UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  M* 


INSTANT    ACTION    IS    WORTH    A    CENTURY    OF   DIPLOMACY." 

—See  page    129. 


Gtts&xa&ysz^^ 


THE  KING  OF 
DIAMONDS 


A  Tale  of  Mystery  and  Adventure 


By 

LOUIS  TRACY 

Author  of 

"The  Wings  of  the  Morning,"  The 
Pillar  of  Light,"  Etc. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1904. 

BY 
EDWARD  J.  CLODE. 


CONTENTS 


sssss 

CHAPTER 

PACB 

I. 

No.  3,  Johnson's  Mews       .... 

5 

II. 

On  the  Edge  of  the  Precipice  . 

.          19 

III. 

What  the  Meteor  Contained       .        .        . 

•          32 

IV. 

Isaacstein      ....... 

•       45 

V. 

Perplexing  a  Magistrate     .... 

.       60 

VI. 

71 

VII. 

A  Business  Transaction      .... 

.        87 

VIII. 

The  Transition     

.     105 

IX. 

A  Decisive  Battle        

.      122 

X. 

A  Step  Higher     ...... 

.      136 

XI. 

In  Clover               ,        

.      151 

XII. 

The  Close  of  One  Epoch    .... 

165 

XIII. 

After  Long  Years        

177 

XIV. 

XV. 

A  Face  From  the  Past       .... 

2O8 

XVI. 

The  Master  Fiend        .... 

22^ 

XVII. 

The  Inmates  of  the   Grange   House 

.      238 

XVIIL 

"Revenge  is  Mine;  I  Will  Repay"  . 

.      253 

XIX. 

Philip  Anson  Redivivus      .... 

.      266 

XX. 

Nemesis          

.      281 

XXI. 

The  Rescue           

•      293 

XXII. 

A  Settlement  of  Old  Scores 

.      307 

&&£g£ggg£&&&££&^^ 


2133187 


THE  KING  OF 

DIAMONDS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

No.  j,  Johnson  s  Mews. 

"Is  there  no  hope,  doctor?" 

"Absolutely  none — now." 

"If  she  had  gone  to  the — the  workhouse  infirmary — 
would  she  have  lived?" 

The  doctor  paused.  The  gulp  before  that  hateful 
word  was  not  lost  on  him.  He  tried  professional  se 
verity,  and  bestowed  some  care  on  the  buttoning  of  a 
glove. 

"I  am  surprised,"  he  said,  "that  an  excellent  woman 
like  your  mother  should  encourage  your  feelings  of — • 

er — repugnance  toward — er Confound  it,  boy, 

have  you  no  relatives  or  friends  ?" 

"No,  sir.    We  are  alone  in  the  world." 

"And  hard  up,  eh?" 

The  boy  dug  a  hand  into  a  pocket  with  the  stolid  in 
difference  of  despair.  He  produced  two  shillings  and 
some  pennies.  He  picked  out  the  silver,  and  the  man 
reddened  in  protest. 

"Don't  be  stupid,  Philip.  That  is  your  name,  is  it 
not?  When  I  want  my  fee  I  will  ask  for  it.  Your 
mother  needs  a  nurse,  wine,  chicken  broth.  You  are 


6  THE  KING  OF 

old  enough  to  realize  that  a  doctor  practicing  in  a 
neighborhood  like  this  might  want  such  things  himself 
and  whistle  for  them.  But  in  the — er — infirmary  they 
are  provided  by  the  State." 

"Would  my  mother  have  lived  had  she  consented 
to  be  taken  there  a  month  ago?" 

Again  the  man  wondered  at  the  stony  persistence  of 
the  questioner,  a  fearless-looking,  active  boy  of  fifteen, 
attired  in  worn  clothes  too  small  for  him,  and  wearing 
an  old  pair  of  boots  several  sizes  too  large.  The 
strong,  young  face,  pinched  with  vigils  and  privation, 
the  large,  earnest  eyes,  heavy  with  unshed  tears,  the 
lips,  quivering  in  their  resolute  compression  over  a 
chin  that  indicated  great  strength  of  character,  ap 
pealed  far  more  to  the  doctor  than  the  whimpering 
terror  with  which  the  children  of  the  poor  usually  meet 
the  grim  vision  of  death. 

The  wrestle  with  the  glove  ceased  and  a  kindly  hand 
rested  on  Philip's  shoulder. 

"No,"  came  the  quiet  answer.  "May  God  help  you, 
she  would  not  have  lived." 

"God  does  not  help  anybody,"  was  the  amazing  re 
tort. 

The  doctor  was  shocked,  visibly  so. 

"That  is  a  foolish  and  wicked  statement,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "Do  not  let  your  mother  hear  such  awful 
words.  She  has  lived  and  will  die  a  true  Christian. 
I  have  never  met  a  woman  of  greater  natural  charm 
and  real  piety.  She  has  suffered  so  much  that  she 
merits  the  life  eternal.  It  is  a  reward,  not  a  punish 
ment.  Cast  away  these  terrible  thoughts;  go,  rather, 
and  kneel  by  her  side  in  prayer." 


DIAMONDS  7 

For  an  instant  the  great  brown  eyes  blazed  fiercely 
at  him. 

"Am  I  to  pray  that  my  mother  shall  be  taken  from 
me?" 

"Even  that,  if  it  be  God's  will." 

The  gleam  of  passion  yielded  to  utter  helplessness. 
The  boy  again  brought  forth  his  tiny  store  of  money. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "I  can  buy  some  small  amount 
of  wine.  In  the  shops  they  sell  things  in  tins  that 
make  chicken  broth,  don't  they?  I  have  a  fire  and  a 
kettle.  Would  you  mind  telling  me " 

"There,  there!  You  go  to  your  mother,  and  en 
deavor  to  cheer  her  up.  I  will  see  what  I  can  do. 
What!  Would  you  argue  with  me?  Go  at  once;  I 
insist.  Listen,  she  is  calling  for  you !" 

In  that  poor  tenement  there  were  no  secrets.  A 
rickety  staircase,  crudely  built  against  the  retaining 
wall  of  the  only  living  room  on  the  ground  floor,  led 
steeply  to  an  apartment  above,  and  culminated  in  an 
opening  that  suggested  a  trapdoor.  The  walls,  roughly 
paneled,  were  well  provided  with  shelves  and  pegs, 
The  back  door  was  fastened  with  a  latch,  a  contrivance 
rarely  seen  in  the  London  of  to-day.  The  front  win 
dow  looked  out  into  a  badly-paved  court  girt  by  tumble 
down  stables.  A  smaller  window  at  the  back  revealed 
a  dismal  yard  darkened  by  lofty  walls.  Although  little 
more  than  a  stone's  throw  removed  from  the  busy 
Mile  End  Road,  the  place  was  singularly  quiet.  It 
was  already  dead,  and  only  waited  the  coming  of  men 
with  pickaxes  and  crowbars  to  sweep  away  the  ruins. 

The  boy  heard  his  name  whispered  rather  than 
spoken.  The  sound  galvanized  him  into  vivid  con 
sciousness, 


8  THE  KING  OF 

"Doctor,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "you  will  come  back?" 

"Yes,  yes ;  within  half  an  hour.  Tell  your  mother 
to  expect  me." 

Philip  ran  up  the  stairs.  Long  practice  had  enabled 
him  to  move  with  a  minimum  of  noise.  It  was  pitiful 
to  see  the  manner  in  which  he  emerged,  with  stealthy 
activity,  into  the  creaking  loft  above.  Here,  at  first 
glance,  there  was  an  astonishing  degree  of  comfort. 
Odd  pieces  of  worn  carpet,  neatly  joined,  covered  the 
floor.  The  two  windows,  facing  only  to  the  front  of 
the  dwelling,  were  curtained.  The  whitewashed  walls 
were  almost  hidden  by  cuttings  from  the  colored  pe 
riodicals  published  during  the  previous  Christmas  sea 
son.  .A  screen  divided  the  room  into  two  compart 
ments,  each  containing  a  tiny  bed.  On  one  of  these, 
propped  up  with  pillows,  lay  the  wasted  figure  of  a 
woman  over  whose  face  the  shadows  were  falling  fast. 
The  extreme  thinness,  the  waxen  pallor,  the  delicate 
texture  of  debilitated  skin  and  unnatural  brilliancy  of 
the  eyes,  gave  her  a  remarkably  youthful  appearance. 
This  fantastic  trick  of  death  in  life  accentuated  the 
resemblance  between  mother  and  son.  The  boy,  too, 
was  sharply  outlined  by  hunger,  and,  in  the  fading 
light  of  a  March  day,  the  difference  between  the  dread 
tokens  of  approaching  collapse  and  the  transient  effects 
of  a  scanty  regimen  on  a  vigorous  youth  was  not  read 
ily  distinguishable. 

"Do  you  want  anything,  mother  dear  ?"  said  the  boy, 
laying  his  hand  tenderly  on  the  clammy  forehead. 

"Only  to  ask  you,  Phil,  what  it  was  that  the  doctor 
told  you." 

The  voice  was  low  and  sweet — the  diction  that  of 
an  educated  woman.  The  boy,  too,  though  his  tones 


DIAMONDS  9 

were  strong  and  harsh,  spoke  with  the  accent  of  good 
breeding.  His  manner  and  words  gained  some  dis 
tinction  from  a  slight  touch  of  French  elegance  and 
precision.  This  was  only  noticeable  in  repose.  When 
excited,  or  moved  to  deep  feeling,  the  Continental 
veneer  acquired  at  the  Lycee  in  Dieppe  instantly  van 
ished,  and  he  became  the  strenuous,  emphatic  Briton 
he  undoubtedly  was  by  birth  and  breeding. 

"He  said,  dearest,  that  what  you  wanted  was  some 
good  wine — nice  things  to  eat.  He  is  an  awfully  fine 
chap,  and  I  am  afraid  I  was  rude  to  him,  but  he  didn't 
seem  to  mind  it  a  bit,  and  he  is  coming  back  soon  with 
chicken  broth  and  port  wine,  and  I  don't  know  what." 

His  brave  words  were  well  meant,  but  the  mother's 
heart  understood  him  too  well  to  be  deceived.  A  thin 
hand  caught  his  wrist  and  feebly  drew  him  nearer. 

"You  say  you  were  rude  to  him,  Phil?  How  can 
that  be  possible?  What  did  you  say  or  do  to  warrant 
such  a  description?" 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment.  With  rare  self-control 
in  one  so  young,  he  fiercely  determined  not  to  com 
municate  his  own  despair  to  his  mother.  So  he 
laughed  gently. 

<rVVe  are  so  jolly  hard  up,  you  know,  and  it  sounded 
strange  in  my  ears  to  talk  about  expensive  luxuries 
which  I  could  not  buy.  He  has  often  told  us,  dear, 
that  you  would  be  better  cared  for  in  the  infirmary. 
I  am  afraid  now  he  was  right,  only  we  couldn't  bear — 
to  be  parted.  Could  we,  mother?" 

Not  all  his  valor  could  control  his  tremulous  lips. 
A  beautiful  smile  illumined  the  face  of  the  invalid. 

"So  you  are  trying  to  hoodwink  me,  Phil,  for  the 
first  time.  I  know  what  the  doctor  said.  He  told 


io  THE  KING  OF 

you  that  I  could  not  recover,  and  that  I  had  not  long 
to  live ;  in  a  word,  that  I  am  dying." 

Then  the  boy  gave  way  utterly.  He  flung  himself 
down  by  the  side  of  the  bed  and  buried  his  face  in 
the  coverlet. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother!"  he  wailed,  and  his  passionate 
sobs  burst  forth  with  alarming  vehemence.  The  poor 
woman  vainly  strove  to  soothe  him.  She  could  not 
move,  being  paralyzed,  but  her  fingers  twined  gently 
in  his  hair,  and  she  gasped,  brokenly : 

"Phil,  darling,  don't  make  it  harder  for  me.  Oh, 
calm  yourself,  my  dear  one,  if  only  for  my  sake.  I 
have  so  much  to  say  to  you,  and  perhaps  so  little  time. 
Be  strong,  Philip.  Be  strong  and  brave,  and  all  will 
be  well  with  you.  I  know  you  will  miss  me — we  have 
been  all  in  all  to  each  other  since  your  father's  death. 
But  my  memory  must  be  sweet,  not  bitter  to  you. 
When  you  think  of  me  I  want  the  recollection  to  in 
spire  you  to  do  that  which  is  right  regardless  of  con 
sequences,  to  strive  always  for  honor  and  for  the  ap 
probation  of  your  own  conscience.  My  own  dear  boy, 
we  must  bow  to  the  will  of  God.  We  have  indeed 
been  sorely  tried,  you  far  more  than  I,  for  I  can  look 
back  on  years  of  perfect  happiness  with  a  loving  hus 
band  and  a  delightful  child,  whereas  you  have  been 
plunged  into  poverty  and  misery  at  an  age  when  life 
should  be  opening  before  you  with  every  promise  of  a 
successful  career.  Perhaps,  Phil,  your  trials  have 
come  to  you  early,  as  mine  have  found  me  late.  I 
trust  I  have  borne  reverses  of  health  and  fortune  with 
patience  and  resignation.  My  present  sufferings  will 
be  a  lasting  joy  to  me  if,  in  the  life  to  come,  I  can  know 
that  my  example  has  been  a  stimulus  to  ,you  amidst  the 


DIAMONDS  1 1 

chances  and  changes  of  your  career.  Promise  me, 
darling,  that  you  will  resign  yourself  to  the  decrees 
of  Providence  even  in  the  bitter  hour  of  our  parting." 

Her  voice  failed.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  The 
knowledge  came  to  her  anew  that  natural  emotions 
can  at  times  conquer  all  restraints.  The  maternity 
strong  within  her  clamored  for  the  power  to  shield 
her  offspring  from  the  dangers  that  would  beset  him. 
There  was  a  maddening  pain  in  the  thought  that  a 
few  brief  hours  or  minutes  might  unclasp  her  arms 
from  him  forever. 

It  was  Phil  who  first  gave  utterance  to  the  wild  pro 
test  in  their  souls. 

"Mother,"  he  mourned,  bitterly,  "I  don't  want  to  live 
without  you.  Let  us  die  together.  If  you  cannot 
stay  with  me,  then  I  swear 

But  a  scream  of  terror,  so  shrill  and  vehement  that 
it  seemed  to  be  almost  miraculous  from  so  frail  a  form, 
froze  the  vow  on  his  lips. 

"Phil!  What  are  you  saying?  Oh,  my  son,  my 
son,  do  not  break  my  heart  before  I  die.  Kiss  me, 
dearest.  I  am  cold.  I  can  scarce  see  you.  Come 
nearer.  Let  me  look  once  more  into  your  brave  eyes. 
You  will  be  a  great  man,  Phil.  I  know  it.  Who 
should  know  your  character  like  your  mother?  But 
you  must  have  faith  in  God  always.  I  have  prayed  for 
you,  and  my  prayers  will  surely  be  granted.  I  will 
watch  over  you.  If  you  are  in  danger  my  spirit  will 
come  back  to  you  across  the  void.  We  cannot  be 
parted.  Oh,  God,  it  is  impossible!  You  are  the  life 
of  my  life.  I  am  not  dead  while  you  still  live." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  her  left  hand  and  arm,  hitherto 
untouched  by  the  cruel  blight  which  had  made  her  a 


12  THE  KING  OF 

helpless  invalid  during  many  weary  months,  became 
numb  and  rigid.  She  was  dying  now,  not  with  the 
struggle  against  the  king  of  terrors  which  often  marks 
the  passing  of  humanity,  but  with  a  slow  torpidity 
more  akin  to  sleep. 

Her  brain  was  clear,  but  the  stock  of  nervous  force 
had  sunk  so  low  that  her  few  remaining  words  were 
spoken  with  difficulty.  They  were  mostly  endearing 
expressions,  appeals  to  her  loved  one  to  hope  and  pray, 
to  trust  steadfastly  in  the  all-wise  power  that  would 
direct  his  destiny.  With  the  last  flicker  of  existence 
the  maternal  instinct  became  dominant  again  and  she 
asked  him  not  to  forget  her. 

The  boy  could  only  murmur  agonized  appeals  to 
the  merciless  unseen  not  to  rob  him  of  the  only  being 
he  held  dear  on  earth,  but  even  in  that  awful  moment 
he  had  the  strength  to  cease  his  frantic  protests  when 
they  seemed  to  cause  her  pain,  and  he  forced  himself 
to  join  her  in  prayer. 

When  the  doctor  brought  a  nurse  and  some  small 
store  of  the  much-needed  delicacies,  Mrs.  An  son  was 
already  unconscious. 

The  boy,  aroused  from  frenzy  by  the  steps  on  the 
stairs,  shrieked  incoherently: 

"I  have  killed  my  mother.  See !  She  is  dead.  I 
killed  her.  I  made  her  cry.  You  told  me  to  look 
after  her  until  you  returned.  She  cried  and  screamed 
because  I  spoke  so  wildly.  It  is  all  my  fault.  I — 

"Hush !  Your  mother  is  not  dead,  but  dying.  Not 
all  the  skill  of  man  can  save  her.  Let  her  die  in 
peace." 

No  other  words  could  have  checked  the  wild  torrent 
of  lament  that  surged  from  that  wounded  heart.  So 


DIAMONDS  13 

she  still  lived.  There  remained  a  faint  flicker  of  life. 
Not  yet  had  she  passed  the  dreadful  barrier  of  eter 
nity.  Through  his  blinding  tears  he  thought  he  could 
discern  a  smile  on  the  worn  face.  The  doctor  watched 
Phil  more  narrowly  than  the  sunken  frame  on  the  bed. 
It  was  best  that  the  paroxysm  of  grief  should  go  un- 
trammeled.  The  nurse,  a  young  woman  unused  as  yet 
to  the  inevitableness  of  death,  moved  timidly  toward 
the  windows  and  adjusted  the  curtains  to  admit  more 
light. 

At  last,  when  Phil's  strength  yielded  to  the  strain 
of  his  sorrow  and  the  very  force  of  his  agony  had 
spent  itself,  the  doctor  leaned  over  the  inanimate  form 
and  looked  into  the  eyes. 

"It  has  ended,  Phil,"  he  whispered.  "Your  mother 
is  in  heaven !" 

In  heaven !  What  a  tocsin  of  woe  in  a  message  of 
faith !  The  boy  suddenly  stood  up.  Hope  was  mur 
dered  within  him.  His  tears  ceased  and  his  labored 
breathing  came  under  control  with  a  mighty  effort. 
He  stooped  and  kissed  the  pale  cheeks  twice. 

"Good-by,  mother,"  he  said,  and  the  dull  pain  in  his 
voice  was  so  heartrending  that  the  nurse's  sympathies 
mastered  her.  She  burst  out  crying.  Professional  in 
stinct  came  to  the  doctor's  aid.  He  sharply  repri 
manded  the  half-hysterical  woman  and  sent  her  off  on 
an  errand  to  bring  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  render  the 
last  services  to  frail  mortality.  The  boy  he  led  down 
stairs.  He  was  a  busy  man,  with  many  claims  on  his 
time,  but  this  strange  youngster  interested  him,  and 
he  resolved  to  turn  the  boy's  thoughts  forcibly  away 
from  the  all-absorbing  horror  of  his  mother's  death. 

"Have  you  a  tumbler  or  a  cup?"  he  said,  sharply. 


14  THE  KING  OF 

Phil  handed  him  a  tumbler.  The  doctor  poured  out 
some  wine  taken  from  the  nurse's  basket,  soaked  a 
piece  of  bread  in  the  liquor,  and  gave  it  to  the  boy  with 
an  imperative  command  to  eat  it  instantly. 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  he  was  obeyed.  While 
Phil  was  devouring  the  food  of  which  he  stood  so 
greatly  in  need,  the  doctor  reviewed  the  circumstances 
of  this  poverty-stricken  household  so  far  as  they  were 
known  to  him.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Anson  had  occupied  a 
fairly  good  position  in  Dieppe,  where  Philip's  father 
was  the  agent  of  an  old-established  London  firm  of 
coal  shippers.  About  two  years  earlier,  both  husband 
and  wife  were  seriously  injured  in  a  motor  car  acci 
dent.  Mr.  Anson  sustained  concussion  of  the  brain, 
and  practically  never  regained  his  senses,  though  he 
lingered  for  some  weeks  and  was  subjected  to  two 
operations.  Mrs.  Anson's  spine  was  damaged,  with 
the  result  that  she  changed  from  a  bright  and  vigorous 
woman  into  a  decrepit  invalid  doomed  to  early  death 
from  slow  paralysis. 

When  the  great  expenses  attendant  on  these  mis 
haps  were  paid,  she  found  herself  not  only  absolutely 
poor,  but  rendered  incapable  of  the  slightest  effort  to 
turn  her  many  and  varied  talents  to  account  in  order 
to  earn  a  livelihood.  She  came  to  London,  where  her 
late  husband's  employers  generously  gave  her  rent- 
free  possession  of  the  tenement  in  which  she  was  lying 
dead,  helped  her  with  funds  to  furnish  it  modestly,  and 
found  a  clerkship  for  Philip  with  a  promise  of  early 
promotion. 

But  the  cup  of  sorrow  is  seldom  left  half  filled. 
Barely  had  the  widow  settled  down  to  a  hopeful  strug 
gle  on  behalf  of  her  beloved  son  than  a  quarrel  be- 


DIAMONDS  15 

tween  partners  led  to  the  sale  of  the  firm's  business  to 
a  limited  liability  company.  Economies  were  effected 
to  make  way  for  salaried  directors.  Philip  was  dis 
missed,  with  several  other  junior  employees,  and  the 
stable  yard  was  marked  out  as  a  suitable  site  for  the 
storage  of  coal  required  by  the  local  factories. 

This  development  took  place  early  in  the  New  Year, 
and  the  new  company  allowed  Mrs.  Anson  to  occupy 
her  tiny  abode  until  the  last  day  of  March.  It  was 
now  March  5th,  and  how  the  widow  and  her  son  had 
lived  during  the  past  two  months  the  doctor  could  only 
guess  from  the  gradual  depletion  of  their  little  store 
of  furniture. 

It  was  odd  that  such  an  intelligent  and  well-bred 
woman  should  be  so  completely  shut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  and  his  first  question  to  Phil  sought  to 
determine  this  mystery. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "there  is  some  one  to  whom  you 
can  appeal  for  help.  Your  father  and  mother  must 
have  had  some  relatives — even  distant  cousins — and, 
if  they  are  written  to,  a  friendly  hand  may  be  forth 
coming." 

Philip  shook  his  head.  The  mere  taste  of  food  had 
provoked  a  ravenous  appetite.  He  could  not  eat  fast 
enough.  The  doctor  stayed  him. 

"Better  wait  a  couple  of  hours,  Phil,  and  then  you 
can  tackle  a  hearty  meal.  That's  the  thing.  I  like 
to  see  such  prompt  obedience,  but  you  certainly  have 
wonderful  self-control  for  one  so  young.  I  may  tell 
you,  to  relieve  present  anxieties,  that  a  few  employees 
of  your  father's  firm  have  guaranteed  the  expenses  of 
your  mother's  funeral,  and  they  also  gave  me  a  sov 
ereign  to  tide  you  over  the  next  few  days." 


THE  KING  OF 

™n     The    word    struck    with    sledge-hammer 


tiling  forth  again,  and  he  savage,,  ,  brt  h,s^ 

"You  have  been-very   *»*^»  ^    'repay 
forced    himself     to     say. 


,  there,  not  a  word!    Bless  my  soul,  yours  is 
"  lector  tackled  his  g,ov.    He  glanced  at 


areseo 

No,  Phil.    Don't  go  upsta  ,rs.    Tl   «  ^e  so 
coming.     Wait  until  t  .  >'  have  tend  e     y         fe 

last  word.     I    «  ^  af  living>  not 
Bt          for  my  advice  in  after 


DIAMONDS  17 

respect  paid  to  her  by  all  who  came  in  contact  with 
her. 

He  sat  down,  untied  a  string  which  bound  the  letters 
together,  and  looked  at  the  address  on  the  first  en 
velope.  It  bore  his  mother's  name  and  a  recent  post 
mark.  Wondering  dolefully  what  correspondence  she 
could  have  had  during  these  later  months  that  de 
manded  such  careful  preservation,  he  took  out  the  let 
ter.  Suddenly  he  hesitated.  Perhaps  these  documents 
alluded  to  something  which  his  mother  did  not  wish 
him  to  know.  For  an  instant  his  impulse  was  to  con 
sign  the  packet  to  the  fire.  No ;  that  might  be  wrong. 
He  would  glance  at  their  general  purport  and  then 
commit  them  to  the  flames  if  he  thought  fit. 

The  letter  in  his  hand  was  headed :  "The  Hall,  Belt- 
ham,  Devon,"  and  dated  about  a  month  earlier.  It 
read: 

"DEAR  MADAM  :  I  am  requested  by  Sir  Philip  Mor- 
land  to  ask  you  not  to  trouble  him  with  further  cor 
respondence.  This  is  the  fourth  time  I  have  been  de 
sired  by  him  to  write  in  these  terms,  so  please  note  that 
your  letters  will  in  future  remain  unanswered. 
"Yours  truly, 

"LOUISA  MORLAND." 

The  curt  incivility  of  the  note  brought  an  angry 
flush  to  the  boy's  face.  Who  was  Sir  Philip  Morland 
that  he  should  dare  to  offer  this  insult  to  a  lady? 
Evidently  a  relative,  and  a  near  one,  for  Morland  was 
his  mother's  name,  and  his  own  Christian  name  sug 
gested  a  family  connection.  Yet  she  had  never  spoken 
of  any  such  person. 

Three  other  letters,  of  preceding  dates,  showed  that 


1 8  THE  KING  OF 

"Louisa  Morland"  kept  accurate  reckoning.  There 
were  half  a  dozen  more,  from  a  firm  of  solicitors. 
Some  of  these  were  merely  formal  acknowledgments 
of  letters  received  and  forwarded,  but  one  stated  that 
they  "were  instructed  by  Lady  Morland  to  inform 
Mrs.  Anson  that  Sir  Philip  Morland  declined  either 
to  see  or  hear  from  her." 

That  was  all.  Philip  sprang  up  with  face  aflame. 
He  was  alone  in  the  house  now,  alone  with  his  dead 
mother. 

He  went  upstairs,  with  the  letters  crushed  in  his 
right  hand  as  though  he  would  choke  a  reptile  which 
had  stung  the  only  being  he  loved.  He  bent  over  the 
shrunken  form,  so  placid,  so  resigned,  so  angelic  in  the 
peace  of  death,  and  his  hot  tears  fell  unchecked. 

"You  poor  darling,"  he  murmured,  "I  believe  you 
humbled  yourself  even  to  beg  from  these  people  for 
my  sake.  What  can  I  do  to  show  my  love  for  you?" 


DIAMONDS  19 

CHAPTER   II. 

On  the  Edge  of  the  Precipice. 


On  Friday  evening,  March  iQth,  a  thunderstorm  of 
unusual  violence  broke  over  London.  It  was  notably 
peculiar  in  certain  of  its  aspects.  The  weather  was 
cold  and  showery,  a  typical  day  of  the  March  equinox. 
Under  such  conditions  barometric  pressure  remains 
fixed  rather  than  variable,  yet  many  whose  business  or 
hobby  it  is  to  record  such  facts  observed  a  rapid 
shrinkage  of  the  mercury  column  between  the  hours  of 
six  and  seven.  A  deluge  of  rain  fell  for  many  minutes, 
and  was  followed,  about  7.30  P.  M.,  by  a  mad  turmoil 
of  thunder  and  an  astounding  electrical  display  not 
often  witnessed  beyond  the  confines  of  the  giant  moun 
tain  ranges  of  the  world. 

So  violent  and  unnerving  was  the  outburst  that  the 
social  life  of  London  was  paralyzed  for  the  hour. 
Theater  parties,  diners  in  the  fashionable  restaurants, 
the  greater  millions  anxious  to  get  away  from  offices 
and  shops,  those  eager  alike  to  enter  and  leave  the 
charmed  circle  of  the  four-mile  radius,  were  ruth 
lessly  bidden  to  wait  while  the  awesome  forces  of  na 
ture  made  mad  racket  in  the  streets.  All  horseflesh 
was  afraid.  The  drivers  of  cabs  and  omnibuses  were 
unable  to  make  progress.  They  had  sufficient  ado 
to  restrain  their  maddened  animals  from  adding  the 
havoc  of  blind  charges  through  the  streets  to  the  gen 
eral  confusion  caused  by  the  warring  elements.  Tele 
graph  and  telephone  wires  became  not  only  useless  but 


20  THE  KING  OF 

dangerous,  and  the  suburban  train  service  was  con 
sequently  plunged  into  a  tangle  from  which  it  was  not 
extricated  until  midnight. 

So  general  was  the  confusion,  so  widespread  the  pub 
lic  alarm,  that  the  sudden  cessation  of  the  uproar  at 
eight  o'clock  caused  more  prayers  of  thankfulness  to 
be  uttered  in  the  metropolis  than  had  been  heard  for 
many  a  day.  But  worse  remained.  Thus  far  the 
lightning  had  been  appalling,  brilliantly  lurid,  but 
harmless.  At  ten  o'clock  the  storm  raged  again,  this 
time  without  the  preliminary  downfall  of  rain,  and 
the  lightning,  though  less  sensational  in  appearance, 
was  demoniac  in  effect,  levying  a  toll  on  human  lives, 
causing  fires  and  general  damage  to  property,  accounts 
of  which  filled  many  columns  of  the  newspapers  next 
morning.  This  second  outburst  was  succeeded  by 
heavy  and  continuous  rain.  At  the  hour  when  the 
theaters  emptied  their  diminishing  audiences  into  the 
streets  London  wore  its  normal  rain-sodden  aspect. 
It  was  not  until  the  following  day  that  people  fully 
understood  the  magnitude  and  terrifying  results  of  the 
later  display. 

About  a  quarter  to  eight,  while  the  first  storm  was 
at  its  height,  a  carriage  and  pair  dashed  into  a  fash 
ionable  West  End  square  and  pulled  up  outside  a  man- 
'sion  cast  in  the  stereotyped  mold  of  the  early  Victorian 
period.  The  horses,  overfed  and  underworked,  had 
been  rendered  frantic  by  the  drive  through  the  park 
from  the  further  west.  Fortunately,  they  knew  this 
halting  place,  or  the  coachman  would  never  have  suc 
ceeded  in  stopping  them.  As  it  was,  they  sweated 
white  with  fear,  and  the  footman,  shouting  to  the  oc 
cupants  of  the  carriage  that  he  could  not  attend  to  the 


DIAMONDS  21 

door,  ran  to  their  heads  after  giving  a  vigorous  tug 
at  the  house  bell. 

A  boy,  tall  and  thin,  and  scantily  attired  for  such 
weather,  who  had  taken  shelter  in  the  dark  portico  of 
the  mansion,  ran  forward  to  offer  his  services  at  the 
carriage  door.  A  bundle  of  evening  papers,  covered 
with  a  piece  of  sacking,  somewhat  impeded  the  use  of 
his  left  hand,  and,  as  it  happened,  in  his  right  he  held 
a  large  bun  on  which  he  had  just  commenced  to  dine. 

Before  he  could  turn  the  handle  the  carriage  door 
opened  from  the  inside.  A  man  sprang  out. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  impatiently,  and  the 
newsboy  obeyed,  glad  that  he  had  not  followed  his 
first  impulse  and  flung  away  the  bun. 

A  vivid  flash  of  lightning  made  the  horses  rear  and 
plunge. 

"Look  sharp,  Elf,"  cried  the  stranger,  in  no  more 
cordial  tone.  "Gather  your  wraps  and  jump  out.  On 
a  night  like  this  these  nervous  brutes 

A  peal  of  thunder  that  rattled  the  windows  inter 
rupted  him.  The  two  animals  reared  and  backed  with 
one  accord.  The  plucky  footman,  hanging  onto  the 
crossbars  of  the  bits,  was  lifted  off  his  feet  and  banged 
violently  against  the  pole.  He  was  forced  to  let  go, 
and  fell,  staggering  backward  some  yards  before  he 
dropped.  There  was  a  smash  of  iron  and  wood,  and 
the  near  hind  wheel  of  the  carriage  jammed  against 
the  curb.  A  slight  scream  came  from  the  interior. 
Certain  that  the  vehicle  \vould  turn  over  instantly,  the 
man  who  had  alighted  slammed  the  door  and  sprang 
clear.  In  doing  so  he  tripped  over  the  newsboy  and 
fell  heavily  on  the  pavement.  The  boy,  quicker  to 
note  that  the  breaking  of  the  pole  had  given  a  mo- 


22  THE  KING  OF 

mentary  respite,  rushed  into  the  roadway,  throwing 
away  both  precious  bun  and  still  more  precious  stock 
of  unsold  papers. 

He  wrenched  the  other  door  open,  and  shouted : 

"This  way,  madam  !     Quick  !" 

"Madam"  was  quick.  She  sprang  right  into  his 
arms,  and  proved  to  be  a  girl  of  twelve  or  thereabouts, 
dressed  all  in  white,  and  wrapped  in  an  ermine  cloak. 

Over  went  the  carriage  with  a  fearful  crash.  The 
coachman  managed  to  jump  from  the  box  into  the 
roadway.  He  retained  the  reins  and  whip  in  his 
grasp,  and  now,  losing  his  temper,  lashed  the  strug 
gling  horses  savagely.  This  cowed  them,  and  they 
ceased  their  antics. 

The  boy  and  the  girl  found  themselves  standing  on 
the  sidewalk,  close  to  the  ruined  vehicle. 

"You  have  saved  my  life !"  said  the  girl,  sweetly, 
and  without  any  trace  of  the  nervousness  which  might 
naturally  be  expected  after  such  a  narrow  escape  from 
a  serious  accident. 

The  boy  noted  that  her  eyes  were  large  and  blue, 
that  she  wore  a  great  shining  ornament  in  her  hair, 
and  that  she  appeared  to  be  dressed  in  somewhat  fanci 
ful  manner,  though  the  big  cloak  she  wore  concealed 
the  details. 

The  door  of  the  mansion  opened,  and  servants  came 
running  out. 

Suddenly  the  boy  received  a  violent  blow  on  the  side 
of  the  head. 

"Confound  you !"  shouted  the  man  who  had  fallen 
on  the  pavement,  "why  didn't  you  get  out  of  the  way 
when  I  told  you?" 

The  boy,  astounded  by  such  recognition  of  his  timely 


DIAMONDS  23 

help,  made  no  reply,  but  the  girl  protested  vehe 
mently. 

"Oh,  uncle,"  she  cried,  "why  did  you  strike  him? 
He  got  me  out  of  the  carriage  just  before  it  turned 
over.  He  did,  indeed  !" 

Another  vivid  flash  of  lightning  illumined  the  scene. 
It  lit  up  the  group  with  starling  brilliancy.  The  boy, 
still  somewhat  shaken  by  the  vicious  blow,  was  never 
theless  able  to  see  clearly  the  pale,  handsome,  but  dis 
sipated  features  of  his  enraged  assailant,  whose  even 
ing  dress  and  immaculate  linen  were  soiled  by  the 
black  mud  of  the  pavement.  The  girl,  dainty  and 
fairy-like,  a  little  maid  of  aristocratic  type,  and  of  a 
beauty  that  promised  much  in  later  years,  was  dis 
tressed  now  and  almost  tearful. 

Through  the  crowd  of  frightened  servants,  aug 
mented  by  a  few  daring  pedestrians,  a  burly  policeman, 
gigantic  in  waterproof  overalls,  was  advancing  with 
official  bluster. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  demanded.  "Is  anybody 
hurt?" 

The  man  answered: 

"My  horses  were  startled  by  the  storm.  I  jumped 
out  and  was  endeavoring  to  extricate  my  niece  when 
this  wretched  boy  got  in  the  way." 

"Uncle,"  protested  the  girl,  "you  closed  the  door  on 
me,  and  the  boy " 

"Shut  up!"  he  growled,  curtly.  "Go  inside  the 
house !" 

But  his  niece  shared  with  him  at  least  one  char 
acteristic.  She  possessed  the  family  temper. 

"I  will  not  go  away  and  let  you  say  things  which  are 
untrue.  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Policeman.  Lord  Van- 


24  THE  KING  OF 

stone  did  close  the  door  because  he  thought  the  car 
riage  would  turn  over  on  top  of  him.  For  some  reason 
the  accident  did  not  happen  immediately,  and  the  boy 
ran  round  to  the  other  side  and  helped  me  out  just  in 
time."  . 

"Confound  the  brat !  I  think  he  was  the  real  cause 
of  the  whole  affair.  Why  was  he  hiding  in  my  door 
way?" 

Lord  Vanstone  was  more  enraged  than  ever  by  the 
girl's  obstinate  defense  of  her  rescuer  and  her  insist 
ence  on  his  own  seeming  cowardice. 

"I  was  not  hiding.  I  only  took  shelter  from  the 
storm.  I  tried  to  help  you  because  the  footman  was 
struggling  with  the  horses.  I  do  not  claim  any  credit 
for  simply  opening  a  door  and  helping  the  young  lady 
to  alight,  but  I  lost  both  my  dinner  and  my  papers  in 
doing  so." 

Everyone  experienced  a  shock  of  surprise  at  hearing 
the  boy's  elegant  diction.  The  policeman  was  puzzled. 
He  instantly  understood  the  facts,  but  dared  not  brow 
beat  an  earl. 

"You  do  not  bring  any  charge  against  him,  my 
lord?"  he  said. 

But  his  lordship  deigned  no  reply.  He  told  the 
coachman  to  arrange  for  the  removal  of  the  carriage, 
grasped  his  niece  by  the  arm  and  led  her,  still  protest 
ing,  into  the  house. 

The  policeman  saw  the  bundle  of  papers  scattered 
over  the  roadway,  and,  near  them,  the  partly-eaten 
bun.  After  a  wrench  at  his  garments  he  produced  a 
penny. 

"Here,"  he  said  to  the  boy.     "Buy  another  bun  and 


DIAMONDS  25 

be  off.     It's  a  good  job  for  you  the  young  lady  spoke 
up  the  way  she  did." 

"She  merely  told  the  truth.     That  man  was  a  liar." 

Refusing  the  proffered  penny,  the  boy  turned  on  his 
heel.  The  policeman  looked  after  him. 

"That's  a  queer  kid/'  he  thought.  "Talked  like  a 
regular  young  gent.  I  wonder  why  he  is  selling  papers. 
Poor  lad!  He  lost  a  bob's  worth  at  least,  and  small 
thanks  he  got  for  it." 

Passing  out  of  the  square  by  the  first  eastward 
street,  Philip  Anson,  with  his  head  erect  and  hands 
clinched  in  his  pockets,  strode  onward  at  a  rapid  pace. 
The  lightning  was  less  frequent  now,  and  the  thunder 
was  dying  away  in  sullen  rumblings.  He  was  wet 
and  hungry.  Yet,  although  he  had  three  halfpence, 
the  remaining  balance  of  the  only  sales  effected  that 
evening,  he  passed  many  shops  where  he  could  have 
bought  food. 

In  Piccadilly,  where  the  cessation  of  the  storm  cre 
ated  a  rush  of  traffic,  he  was  nearly  run  over,  by  reason 
of  his  own  carelessness,  and  received  a  slash  from  a 
whip,  accompanied  by  a  loud  oath  from  an  angry 
cabman.  He  shivered,  but  never  even  looked  around. 
Crossing  Trafalgar  Square,  he  plunged  through  the 
vortex  of  vehicles  without  troubling  to  avoid  them  in 
the  slightest  degree.  Once  the  hot  breath  of  a  pair 
of  van  horses  touched  his  cheek  while  a  speechless 
driver  pulled  them  back  onto  their  haunches.  Again, 
the  off-wheel  of  an  omnibus  actually  grazed  his  heel 
as  he  sped  behind  the  statue  of  Charles  the  First. 

At  last  he  reached  the  comparative  seclusion  of  the 
Embankment,  and  stood  for  a  moment  to  gaze  fixedly 
at  the  swirling,  glinting  river. 


26  THE  KING  OF 

"Not  here,"  he  muttered,  aloud.  "I  must  be  nearer 
to  mother — dear  old  mother!  She  is  there,  waiting 
for  me." 

He  trudged  steadily  away,  through  Queen  Victoria 
Street,  Cornhill,  Leadenhall  Street,  and  so  on  to  John 
son's  Mews,  in  the  Mile  End  Road.  Pausing  at  a 
marine  store  dealer's  shop,  kept  by  an  army  pensioner, 
an  Irishman,  with  whom  he  had  a  slight  acquaintance, 
he  entered.  An  elderly  man  was  laboriously  reading  a 
paper  of  the  preceding  day's  date. 

''Good-evening,  Mr.  O'Brien,"  he  said.  "Can  you 
oblige  me  with  a  piece  of  rope  ?  I  want  a  strong  piece, 
about  three  or  four  yards  in  length.  I  can  only  spare 
three  halfpence." 

"Faix,  I  dunno.  They  use  nails  on  the  crates  mostly 
nowadays.  If  I  have  a  bit  it's  at  yer  sarvice.  I 
wouldn't  be  afther  chargin'  the  likes  o'  you." 

Philip's  story  was  kno\vn  in  that  humble  locality, 
and  the  old  soldier  sympathized  with  the  boy.  "He 
has  rale  spunk  an'  no  mistake,"  was  his  verdict  when 
others  said  Philip  was  proud  and  overbearing.  O'Brien 
moved  rheumatically  about  the  squalid  shop.  At  last 
he  found  some  portion  of  a  clothesline. 

"Will  that  do?"  he  inquired. 

Philip  tested  it  with  vigorous  pulling  against  his 
knee. 

"Excellently,"  he  said.     "Let  me  pay  you  for  it." 

"Arrah,  go  away  wid  ye.  And,  be  the  powers,  isn't 
the  poor  lad  cowld  an'  famished.  Luke  here,  now. 
In  five  minutes  I'm  goin'  to  have  a  cup  o'  tay ' 

"I  am  awfully  obliged  to  you,  but  I  could  not  touch 
a  morsel.  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"Are  ye  goin'  a  journey?    Have  ye  got  a  job?" 


DIAMONDS  27 

"I  think  so.     It  looks  like  a  permanency.     Good-by." 

"Good-by,  an'  good  luck  to  ye.  Sure  the  boy  looks 
mighty  quare.  'Tis  grief  for  his  mother  has  turned  his 
head  entirely." 

No  words  could  more  clearly  express  Philip's  con 
dition  than  this  friendly  summing  up.  Since  his 
mother's  burial  he  had  been  half  demented.  His  curt, 
disconnected  answers  had  lost  him  two  places  as  an 
errand  boy,  which  he  could  easily  have  secured.  His 
small  stock  of  money,  ridiculously  depleted  by  the  gen 
erosity  with  which  he  met  the  open  hints  of  the  under 
taker's  assistants,  barely  sufficed  to  keep  him  in  food 
for  a  week.  Then  he  sought  employment,  but  with 
such  stiff  upper  lip  and  haughty  indifference  to  suc 
cess  that  he  unknowingly  turned  those  against  him 
who  would  have  assisted  him. 

For  two  days  he  was  chosen  to  act  as  van  boy  for  a 
parcel  delivery  firm.  He  earned  a  few  meals,  but  in 
a  fit  of  aberration  induced  by  the  sight  of  a  lady  who 
was  dressed  in  a  costume  similar  to  one  he  remem 
bered  his  mother  wearing  at  Dieppe,  he  allowed  a  ham 
to  be  stolen  from  the  rear  of  the  van.  This  procured 
his  instant  dismissal,  with  threats.  Then  he  sold 
newspapers,  only  to  find  that  every  good  site  was 
jealously  guarded  by  a  gang  of  roughs  who  mercilessly 
bullied  any  newcomer.  Personal  strength  and  courage 
were  unavailing  against  sheer  numbers.  His  face  was 
still  swollen  and  his  ribs  sore  as  the  result  of  being 
knocked  down  and  kicked  at  Ludgate  Circus ;  at  Char 
ing  Cross  next  day  he  was  hustled  under  the  wheels 
of  an  omnibus  and  narrowly  escaped  death.  So  he 
was  driven  into  the  side  streets  and  the  quiet  squares, 
in  which,  during  three  or  four  days,  he  managed  to 


28  THE  KING  OF 

earn  an  average  of  eightpence  daily,  which  he  spent 
on  food. 

Each  night  he  crept  back  to  the  poor  tenement  in 
Johnson's  Mews,  his  bleak  "home"  amidst  the  solitude 
of  empty  stables  and  warehouses.  The  keeper  of  a 
coffee  stall,  touched  one  night  by  his  woe-begone  ap 
pearance,  gave  him  some  half-dried  coffee  grounds  in 
a  paper,  together  with  a  handful  of  crusts. 

"Put  'arf  that  in  a  pint  of  water,"  he  said,  looking 
critically  at  the  soddened  mess  of  coffee,  "an'  when 
it  comes  to  a  bile  let  it  settle.  It'll  surprise  you  to  mid 
'ow  grateful  an'  comfortin'  it  tastes  on  a  cold  night. 
As  for  the  crusts,  if  you  bake  'em  over  the  fire,  they're 
just  as  good  as  the  rusks  you  buy  in  tins." 

This  good  Samaritan  had  repeated  his  gift  on  two 
occasions,  and  Philip  had  a  fairly  large  supply  of  small 
coal,  sent  to  his  mother  by  the  colliery  company,  so  his 
position,  desperate  enough,  was  yet  bearable  had  he  but 
sought  to  accustom  himself  to  the  new  conditions  of 
life.  There  was  a  chance  that  his  wild  broodings 
would  have  yielded  to  the  necessity  to  earn  a  living, 
and  that  when  next  a  situation  was  offered  to  him  he 
would  keep  it,  but  the  occurrences  of  this  stormy  night 
had  utterly  shaken  him  for  the  hour.  He  was  on  the 
verge  of  lunacy. 

As  he  passed  through  the  dark  archway  leading  to 
his  abode,  the  desolate  stable  yard  was  fitfully  lit  by 
lightning,  and  in  the  distance  he  heard  the  faint  rumble 
of  thunder.  The  elemental  strife  was  beginning  again. 
This  was  the  second  and  more  disastrous  outbreak  of 
the  evening  of  March  iQth. 

Although  wet  to  the  skin  he  was  warm  now  on 
account  of  his  long  and  rapid  walk.  When  he  un- 


DIAMONDS  29 

locked  the  door  another  flash  of  lightning  revealed  the 
dismal  interior.  He  closed  and  locked  the  door  behind 
him.  On  the  mantelpiece  were  a  farthing  candle  and 
some  matches.  He  groped  for  them  and  soon  had  a 
light.  On  other  occasions  his  next  task  was  to  light 
a  fire.  By  sheer  force  of  habit  he  gathered  together 
some  sticks  and  bits  of  paper  and  arranged  them  in  the 
grate.  But  the  task  was  irksome  to  him.  It  was  ab 
surd  to  seek  any  degree  of  comfort  for  the  few  minutes 
he  had  to  live.  Better  end  it  at  once.  Moreover,  the 
storm  was  sweeping  up  over  the  East  End  with  such 
marvelous  speed  that  the  lightning  now  played  through 
the  tiny  room  with  dazzling  brilliancy,  and  the 
wretched  candle  burned  with  blue  and  ghostlike  feeble 
ness.  The  cold  of  the  house,  too,  began  to  strike 
chilly.  He  was  so  exhausted  from  hunger  that  if  he 
did  not  eat  soon  he  would  not  have  the  strength  left 
to  carry  out  his  dread  purpose. 

He  sprang  erect  with  a  mocking  little  laugh,  picked 
up  the  candle  and  the  piece  of  rope,  and  climbed  the 
stairs.  He  paused  irresolutely  at  the  top,  but,  yield 
ing  to  overwhelming  desire,  went  on  and  stood  at  the 
side  of  the  bed  on  which  his  mother  had  died.  He 
fancied  he  could  see  her  lying  there  still,  with  a  smile 
on  her  wan  face  and  unspoken  words  of  welcome  on 
her  lips. 

A  flood  of  tears  came  and  he  trembled  violently. 

"I  am  coming  to  you,  mother,"  he  murmured.  "You 
told  me  to  trust  in  God,  but  I  think  God  has  forgotten 
me.  I  don't  want  to  live.  I  want  to  join  you,  and 
then,  perhaps,  God  will  remember  me." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  pillow,  nestling  his  face 
against  it,  as  he  was  wont  to  fondle  the  dear  face  that 


30  THE  KING  OF 

rested  there  so  many  weary  days.  Then  he.  resolutely 
turned  away,  descended  four  steps  of  the  ladder-like 
stairs,  and  tied  the  clothesline  firmly  to  a  hook  which 
had  been  driven  into  the  ceiling  during  the  harness- 
room  period  of  the  room  beneath.  With  equal  delib 
eration  he  knotted  the  other  end  of  the  cord  round  his 
neck,  and  he  calculated  that  by  springing  from  the 
stairs  he  would  receive  sufficient  shock  to  become  in 
sensible  very  quickly,  while  his  feet  would  dangle  sev 
eral  inches  above  the  floor. 

There  was  a  terrible  coolness,  a  settled  fixity  of  pur 
pose  far  beyond  his  years,  in  the  manner  of  these  final 
preparations.  At  last  they  were  completed.  He  blew 
out  the  candle  and  stood  erect. 

At  that  instant  the  room  became  absolutely  flooded 
with  lightning,  not  in  a  single  vivid  flash,  but  in  a  trem 
bling,  continuous  glare,  that  suggested  the  effect  of 
some  luminous  constellation,  fierce  with  electric  energy. 
Before  his  eyes  was  exhibited  a  startling  panorama  of 
the  familiar  objects  of  his  lonely  abode.  The  bright 
ness,  so  sustained  and  tremulous,  startled  him  back 
from  the  very  brink  of  death. 

"I  will  wait,"  he  said.  "When  the  thunder  comes, 
then  I  will  jump." 

Even  as  the  thought  formed  in  his  mind,  a  bal!  of 
fire — so  glowing,  so  iridescent  in  its  flaming  heat  that 
it  dominated  the  electric  waves  fluttering  in  the  over 
burdened  air — darted  past  the  little  window  that  looked 
out  over  the  tiny  yard  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
crashed  through  the  flagstones  with  the  din  of  a  ten- 
inch  shell. 

Philip,  elevated  on  the  stairway,  distinctly  saw  the 
molten  splash  which  accompanied  its  impact.  He  saw 


DIAMONDS  31 

the  heavy  stones  riven  asunder  as  if  they  were  tissue 
paper,  and,  from  the  hole  caused  by  the  thunderbolt,  or 
meteor,  came  a  radiance  that  sent  a  spreading  shaft  of 
light  upward  like  the  beam  of  a  searchlight.  The 
warmth,  too,  of  the  object  was  almost  overpowering. 
Were  not  the  surrounding  walls  constructed  of  stone 
and  brick  there  must  have  been  an  immediate  outbreak 
of  fire.  As  it  was,  the  glass  in  the  windows  cracked, 
and  the  woodwork  began  to  scorch.  In  the  same  in 
stant  a  dreadful  roll  of  thunder  swept  over  the  locality, 
and  a  deluge  of  rain,  without  any  further  warning, 
descended. 

All  this  seemed  to  the  wondering  boy  to  be  a  very 
long  time  in  passing.  In  reality  it  occupied  but  a  very 
few  seconds.  People  in  the  distant  street  could  not 
distinguish  the  crash  of  the  fallen  meteor  from  the 
accompanying  thunder,  and  the  downpour  of  rain  came 
in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  prevent  the  wood  in  the 
house  and  the  neighboring  factories  from  blazing  forth 
into  a  disastrous  fire. 

The  torrent  of  water  caused  a  dense  volume  of  steam 
to  generate  in  the  back  yard,  and  this  helped  to  mini 
mize  the  strange  light  shooting  up  from  the  cavity. 
There  was  a  mad  hissing  and  crackling  as  the  rain 
poured  over  the  meteor  and  gradully  dulled  its  bright 
ness.  Pandemonium  raged  in  that  curiously  secluded 
nook. 

Amazed  and  cowed — not  by  the  natural  phenomenon 
he  had  witnessed,  but  by  the  interpretation  he  placed 
on  it — the  boy  unfastened  the  rope  from  his  neck. 

"Very  well,  mother,"  he  whispered,  aloud.  "If  it  is 
your  wish  I  will  live.  I  suppose  that  God  speaks  in 
this  way." 


THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER   III. 

What  the  Meteor  Contained. 

Philip  descended  the  stairs.  He  was  almost  chok 
ing  now  from  another  cause  than  strangulation.  The 
steam  pouring  in  through  the  fractured  window  panes 
was  stifling.  He  took  off  his  coat,  first  removing  from 
an  inner  pocket  the  bundle  of  letters  found  under  Mrs. 
Anson's  pillow,  and  carefully  stuffed  the  worn  garment 
into  the  largest  cavities.  By  this  means  he  succeeded 
somewhat  in  shutting  out  the  vapor  as  well  as  the  lurid 
light  that  still  flared  red  in  the  back  yard. 

The  lightning  had  ceased  totally,  and  the  improvised 
blind  plunged  the  room  into  impenetrable  darkness. 
He  felt  his  way  to  the  stairs  and  found  the  candle, 
which  he  relighted.  The  rain  beating  on  the  roofs  and 
on  the'  outer  pavements  combined  with  the  weird  sounds 
in  the  inclosed  yard  to  make  a  terrifying  racket,  but  it 
was  n>  t  likely  that  a  youth  who  attributed  his  escape 
from  a  loathsome  death,  self-inflicted,  to  the  direct  in 
terposition  of  Providence  in  his  behalf,  would  yield  to 
any  sentimental  fears  on  that  account.  Indeed,  al 
though  quite  weak  from  hunger,  he  felt  an  unaccount 
able  elation  of  spirits,  a  new-born  desire  to  live  and 
justify  his  mother's  confidence  in  him,  a  sense  of  power 
to  achieve  that  which  hitherto  seemed  impossible. 

He  even  broke  into  a  desultory  whistling  as  he  bent 
over  the  hearth  and  resumed  the  laying  of  the  fire 
abandoned  five  minutes  earlier  with  such  sudden  soul- 
weariness.  The  candle,  too,  burned  with  cheery  glim- 


DIAMONDS  33 

mer,  as  if  pleased  with  the  disappearance  of  its  formi 
dable  competitor.  Fortunately  he  had  some  coal  in  the 
house — his  chief  supply  was  stored  in  a  small  bin  at 
the  other  side  of  the  yard,  beyond  the  burial  place  of 
the  raging,  steaming  meteor,  and  consequently  quite 
unapproachable. 

Soon  the  fire  burned  merrily,  and  the  coffee-stall 
keeper's  recipe  for  using  coffee  grounds  was  put  into 
practice.  Philip  had  neither  sugar  nor  milk,  but  the 
hot  liquid  smelled  well,  and  he  was  now  so  cold  and 
stiff,  and  he  had  such  an  empty  sensation  where  he 
might  have  worn  a  belt,  that  some  crusts  of  bread, 
softened  by  immersion  in  the  dark  compound,  earned 
keener  appreciation  than  was  ever  given  in  later  days 
to  the  most  costly  dishes  of  famous  restaurants  yet 
unbuilt. 

After  he  had  eaten,  he  dried  his  damp  garments  and 
changed  his  soaked  boots  for  a  pair  so  worn  that  they 
scarcely  held  together.  But  their  dryness  was  com 
forting.  An  odd  feeling  of  contentment,  largely  in 
duced  by  the  grateful  heat  of  the  fire,  rendered  his 
actions  leisurely.  Quite  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  he 
thought  of  peeping  through  the  back  window  to  ascer 
tain  the  progress  of  external  events.  The  rain  was 
not  now  pelting  down  with  abnormal  fury.  It  was 
still  falling,  but  with  the  quiet  persistence  that  marks 
— in  London  parlance — "a  genuine  wet  day."  The 
steam  had  almost  vanished.  When  he  removed  his 
coat  from  the  broken  panes  he  saw  with  surprise  that 
the  flagstones  in  the  yard  were  dry  within  a  circle  of 
two  feet  around  the  hole  made  by  the  meteor.  Such 
drops  as  fell  within  that  area  were  instantly  obliterated, 
and  tiny  jets  of  vapor  from  the  hole  itself  betrayed 


34  THE  KING  OF 

the  presence  of  the  fiery  object  beneath.  His  boyish 
curiosity  being  thoroughly  aroused,  he  drew  an  old 
sack  over  his  head  and  shoulders,  unlocked  a  door 
which  led  into  the  yard  from  a  tiny  scullery,  and  cau 
tiously  approached  the  place  where  the  meteor  had 
plowed  its  way  into  the  ground.  The  stones  were  lit 
tered  with  debris,  but  the  velocity  of  the  heavy  mass 
had  been  so  great  that  a  comparatively  clean  cut  was 
made  through  the  pavement.  The  air  was  warm,  with 
the  hot  breath  of  an  oven,  and  it  was  as  much  as  Philip 
could  bear  when  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  hole  and 
peeped  in.  At  a  good  depth,  nearly  half  his  own 
height  he  estimated,  he  saw  a  round  ball  firmly  im 
bedded  in  the  earth.  It  was  dully  red,  with  its  surface 
all  cracks  and  fissures  as  the  result  of  the  water  poured 
onto  it.  Much  larger  than  a  football,  it  seemed  to  him, 
at  first  sight,  to  be  the  angry  eye  of  some  colossal 
demon  glaring  up  at  him  from  a  dark  socket.  But  the 
boy  was  absolutely  a  stranger  to  fear.  He  procured 
the  handle  of  a  mop  and  prodded  the  meteor  with  it. 
The  surface  felt  hard  and  brittle.  Large  sections 
broke  away,  though  they  did  not  crumble,  and  he  re 
ceived  a  sharp  reminder  of  the  potency  of  the  heat  still 
stored  below  when  the  wood  burst  into  sudden  flame. 

This  ended  his  investigations  for  the  night.  He 
used  the  sacking  to  block  up  the  window,  replenished 
the  fire,  set  his  coat  to  dry,  and  dragged  his  mattress 
from  the  bedroom  to  the  front  of  the  fire.  The 
warmth  within  and  without  the  house  had  made  him 
intolerably  drowsy,  and  he  fell  asleep  while  murmur 
ing  his  prayers,  a  practice  abandoned  since  the  hour  of 
his  mother's  death. 

In  reality,  Philip  was  undergoing  a  novel  sort  of 


DIAMONDS  35 

Turkish  bath,  and  the  perspiration  induced  thereby 
probably  saved  him  from  a  dangerous  cold.  He  slept 
long  and  soundly.  There  was  no  need  to  attend  to 
the  fire.  Long  ere  the  coal  in  the  grate  was  exhausted, 
the  presence  of  the  meteor  had  penetrated  the  sur 
rounding  earth,  and  the  house  was  far  above  its  normal 
temperature  when  he  awoke. 

The  sun  had  risen  in  a  cloudless  sky.  A  lovely 
spring  morning  had  succeeded  a  night  of  gloom  and 
disaster,  and  the  first  sound  that  greeted  his  wonder 
ing  ears  was  the  twittering  of  the  busy  sparrows  on 
the  housetops.  Of  course  he  owned  neither  clock  nor 
watch.  These  articles,  with  many  others,  were  repre 
sented  by  a  bundle  of  pawn  tickets  stuffed  into  one  of 
the  envelopes  of  his  mother's  packet  of  letters.  But 
the  experience  of  even  a  few  weeks  had  taught  him 
roughly  how  to  estimate  time  by  the  sun,  and  he 
guessed  the  hour  to  be  eight  o'clock,  or  thereabouts. 

His  first  thought  was  of  the  meteor.  His  toilet  was 
that  of  primeval  man,  being  a  mere  matter  of  rising 
and  stretching  his  stiff  limbs.  While  lacing  his  boots 
he  noticed  that  the  floor  was  littered  with  tiny  white 
specks,  the  largest  of  which  was  not  bigger  than  a  grain 
of  bird  seed.  These  were  the  particles  which  shot 
through  the  broken  window  during  the  previous  night. 
He  picked  up  a  few  and  examined  them.  They  were 
hard,  angular,  cold  to  the  touch,  and  a  dull  white  in 
color. 

On  entering  the  yard  he  saw  hundreds  of  these 
queer  little  rough  pebbles,  many  of  them  as  large  as 
peas,  some  the  size  of  marbles  and  a  few  bigger  ones. 
They  had  evidently  flown  on  all  sides,  but,  encounter 
ing  lofty  walls,  save  where  they  forced  a  way  through 


36  THE  KING  OF 

the  thin  glass  of  the  window,  had  fallen  back  to  the 
ground.  Interspersed  with  them  he  found  pieces  of 
broken  stone  and  jagged  lumps  of  material  that  looked 
and  felt  like  iron. 

By  this  time  the  meteor  itself  had  cooled  sufficiently 
to  reveal  the  nature  of  its  outer  crust.  It  appeared  to 
be  an  amalgam  of  the  dark  ironlike  mineral  and  the 
white  pebbles.  Through  one  deep  fissure  he  could  still 
see  the  fiery  heart  of  the  thing,  and  he  imagined  that 
when  the  internal  heat  had  quite  exhausted  itself  the 
great  ball  would  easily  break  into  pieces,  for  it  was 
rent  in  all  directions. 

His  first  exclamation  was  one  of  thankfulness. 

"I  am  jolly  glad  that  tiling  didn't  fall  on  my  head," 
he  said  aloud,  forgetting  that  had  its  advent  been  de 
layed  a  second  or  two,  the  precise  locality  selected 
for  its  impact  would  not  have  mattered  much  to  him. 

"I  wonder  what  it  is,"  he  went  on.  "Is  it  worth 
anything?  Perhaps  if  I  dig  it  out,  I  may  be  able  to 
sell  it  as  a  curiosity." 

A  moment's  reflection  told  him,  however,  that  he 
would  not  be  able  to  disinter  it  that  day,  even  if  he 
possessed  the  requisite  implements.  On  its  lower  side 
it  was  probably  still  red-hot.  Through  the  soles  of 
his  boots,  broken  as  they  were,  he  could  easily  feel  the 
heat  of  the  ground,  so  the  experiment  must  be  deferred 
for  twenty-four  hours,  perhaps  longer.  At  any  rate, 
he  was  sure  that  his  mysterious  visitor  represented  a 
realizable  asset,  and  the  knowledge  gave  him  a  sudden 
distaste  for  coffee  grounds  and  stale  crusts.  He  re 
solved  to  spend  his  remaining  three  halfpence  on  a 
breakfast,  and  at  the  same  time,  make  some  guarded 
inquiries  as  to  the  nature  and  possible  cash  value  of 


DIAMONDS  37 

the  meteor  itself.  Evidently,  its  fall  had  attracted  no 
public  attention.  The  fury  of  the  elements  and  the 
subsequent  heavy  rain  were  effectual  safeguards  in  this 
respect,  and  Johnson's  Mews,  marked  out  for  demoli 
tion  a  fortnight  later,  were  practically  deserted  now 
day  and  night.  Philip  did  not  then  know  that  London 
had  already  much  to  talk  about  in  the  recorded  inci 
dents  of  the  two  storms.  The  morning  newspapers 
were  hysterical  with  headlines  announcing  fires,  col 
lapse  of  buildings,  street  accidents,  and  lamentable  loss 
of  life  in  all  parts  of  the  metropolis.  As  the  day  wore, 
and  full  details  came  to  hand,  the  list  of  mishaps  would 
be  doubled,  while  scientific  observers  would  begin  a 
nine  days'  wrangle  in  the  effort  to  determine  the  pre 
cise  reason  why  the  electrical  disturbance  should  have 
been  wholly  confined  to  the  metropolitan  area.  Philip 
Anson,  a  ragged  boy  of  fifteen,  residing  in  a  desolate 
nook  of  the  most  disheveled  district  in  the  East  End, 
possessed  the  very  genesis  of  the  mystery,  yet  the 
web  of  fate  was  destined  to  weave  a  spell  that  would 
deftly  close  his  lips. 

Meanwhile  he  wanted  his  breakfast.  He  gathered 
thirty  fair-sized,  white  pebbles  and  a  few  jagged  lumps 
of  the  ironlike  material.  These  he  wrapped  in  a  piece 
of  newspaper,  screwed  up  the  small  package  tightly, 
and  placed  it  in  his  trousers'  pocket.  Thinking  deeply 
about  the  awesome  incidents  of  the  previous  night,  he 
donned  his  coat  and  did  not  notice  the  packet  of  letters 
lying  in  the  chair.  Never  before  had  these  documents 
left  his  possession.  The  door  was  locked  and  the  key 
in  his  pocket  before  he  missed  them.  It  was  in  his 
mind  to  turn  back.  In  another  second  he  would  have 
obeyed  the  impulse,  had  not  a  mighty  gust  of  wind 


38  THE  KING  OF 

swept  through  the  yard  and  carried  his  tattered  cap 
into  the  passage.  That  settled  it.  Philip  ran  after  his 
headgear,  and  so  was  blown  into  a  strange  sea  of 
events. 

"They  are  quite  safe  there,"  he  thought.  "In  any 
case,  it  will  be  best  not  to  carry  them  about  in  future. 
They  get  so  frayed,  and  some  day  I  may  want  them." 

Emerging  from  the  haven  of  the  mews,  he  found  the 
untidy  life  of  the  Mile  End  Road  eddying  in  restless 
confusion  through  a  gale.  The  gaunt,  high  walls  sur 
rounding  his  secluded  dwelling  had  sheltered  him  from 
the  blustering,  March  wind  that  was  now  drying  the 
streets  and  creating  much  ill-temper  in  the  hearts  of 
carters,  stall  owners  and  girls  with  large  hats  and  full 
skirts.  In  a  word,  everything  that  could  be  flapped 
or  shaken,  or  rudely  swept  anywhere  out  of  its  rightful 
place,  was  dealt  with  accordingly.  In  one  instance 
a  heavy  tarpaulin  was  lifted  clean  off  a  wagon  and 
neatly  lodged  over  the  heads  of  the  driver  and  horses 
of  a  passing  omnibus.  They  were  not  extricated  from 
its  close  embrace  without  some  difficulty  and  a  great 
quantity  of  severe  yet  cogent  remarks  by  the  wagoner 
and  the  driver,  assisted  by  the  'bus  conductor  and 
various  passengers. 

Philip  laughed  heartily,  for  the  first  time  since  his 
mother's  death.  He  waited  until  the  driver  and  the 
wagoner  had  exchanged  their  farewell  compliments. 
Then  he  made  off  briskly  toward  an  establishment 
where  three  halfpence  would  purchase  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  bun. 

In  ten  minutes  he  felt  much  refreshed,  and  his  busy 
mind  reverted  to  the  mysterious  package  he  carried. 
Thinking  it  best  to  seek  the  counsel  of  an  older  head, 


DIAMONDS  39 

he  went  to  O'Brien's  shop.  The  old  man  was  taking 
down  the  shutters,  and  found  the  task  none  too  easy. 
Without  a  word,  Philip  helped  him,  and  soon  the  pen 
sioner  was  wiping  his  spectacles  in  the  shelter  of  the 
shop. 

"I  dunno  what  the  weather  is  comin'  to  at  all  at  all," 
he  grumbled.  "Last  night  was  like  the  takin'  uv  the 
Redan,  an'  this  mornin'  reminds  me  uv  crossin'  the 
Bay  o'  Biscay." 

"It  certainly  was  a  fearful  thunderstorm,"  said 
Philip. 

"Faix,  boy,  that's  a  thrue  word.  It  was  just  like 
ould  times  in  the  hills  in  Injia,  where  the  divil  himself 
holds  coort  some  nights.  But  what's  the  matter? 
Didn't  you  get  that  job?" 

Philip  laughed  again.  "I  am  not  sure  yet,"  he  re 
plied.  "I  really  came  in  to  ask  you  what  this  is." 

With  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  he  had  untwisted  the 
paper  and  taken  out  the  white  pebbles,  which  he  now 
handed  to  O'Brien. 

The  old  man  took  it,  smelt  it  and  adjusted  his 
glasses  for  a  critical  examination. 

"It  ain't  alum,"  he  announced. 

"No.     I  think  not." 

"An'  it  ain't  glass." 

"Probably  not." 

"Where  did  yer  get  it?" 

"I  found  it  lying  on  the  pavement." 

O'Brien  scratched  his  head.  "  'Tis  a  quare-looking 
objec',  anyhow.  What  good  is  it?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you.  I  thought  that  possibly  it  might 
have  some  value," 


40  THE  KING  OF 

"What !  A  scrap  of  white  shtone  like  that.  Arrah, 
what's  come  over  ye  ?" 

"There  is  no  harm  in  asking,  is  there?  Some  one 
should  be  able  to  tell  me  what  it  is  made  of." 

Philip,  from  his  small  store  of  physical  geography, 
knew  that  meteors  were  articles  of  sufficient  rarity  to 
attract  attention.  And  he  was  tenacious  withal. 

"I  suppose  that  a  jeweler  would  be  the  best  man 
to  judge.  He  must  understand  about  stones,"  he  went 
on. 

"Maybe ;  but  I  don't  see  what's  the  use.  Tis  a  sheer 
waste  of  time.  But  if  y're  set  on  findin'  out,  go  to  a  big 
man.  These  German  Jews  round  about  here  are  omad- 
hauns.  They  don't  know  a  watch  from  a  clock,  an'  if 
they  did  they'd  chate  ye." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,  yet  I  ought  to  know  by  this 
time.  Thank  you ;  I  will  go  into  the  city." 

He  took  the  pebble,  which  he  placed  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  Walking  briskly,  he  traversed  some  part  of 
the  sorrowful  journey  of  barely  twelve  hours  earlier. 
What  had  happened  to  change  his  mood  he  did  not 
know,  and  scarcely  troubled  to  inquire.  Last  night 
he  hurried  through  these  streets  in  a  frenzied  quest  for 
death.  Now  he  strode  along  full  of  hope,  joyous  in 
the  confidence  of  life  and  youth.  His  one  dominant 
thought  was  that  his  mother  had  protected  him,  had 
snatched  him  from  the  dark  gate  of  eternity.  Oddly 
enough,  he  laid  far  more  stress  on  his  escape  from  the 
meteor  than  on  the  accident  that  prevented  his  con 
templated  suicide.  This  latter  idea  had  vanished  with 
the  madness  that  induced  it.  Philip  was  sane  again, 
morally  and  mentally.  He  was  keenly  anxious  to  jus 
tify  his  mother's  trust  in  him.  The  blustering  wind, 


DIAMONDS  41 

annoying  to  most  wayfarers,  only  aroused  in  him  a 
spirit  of  resistance,  of  fortitude.  He  breasted  it  so 
manfully  that  when  at  last  he  paused  at  the  door  of  a 
great  jewelry  establishment  in  Ludgate  Hill,  his  face 
was  flushed  and  his  manner  eager  and  animated. 

He  opened  the  door,  but  was  rudely  brought  back  to 
a  sense  of  his  surroundings  by  the  suspicious  question 
of  a  shop-walker. 

"Now,  boy,  what  do  you  want  here?" 

The  unconscious  stress  in  the  man's  words  was  cer 
tainly  borne  out  by  the  contrast  between  Philip,  a  social 
pariah  in  attire,  and  the  wealth  of  gold  and  precious 
stones  cut  off  from  him  by  panes  of  thick  glass  and  iron 
bars.  What,  indeed,  did  this  outcast  want  there? 

Confused  by  the  sudden  demand,  and  no  less  by  its 
complete  obviousness,  Philip  flushed  and  stammered: 

"I — er — only  wished  to  obtain  some  information, 
sir,"  he  answered. 

Like  all  others,  the  shopman  was  amazed  by  the 
difference  between  the  boy's  manners  and  his  appear 
ance. 

"Information,"  he  repeated,  in  his  surprise.  "What 
information  can  we  give  you?" 

The  wealth  of  the  firm  oppressed  this  man.  He 
could  only  speak  in  accents  of  adulation  where  the 
shop  was  concerned. 

Philip  produced  his  white  pebble. 

"What  is  this?"  he  said. 

The  directness  of  the  query  again  took  his  hearer 
aback.  Without  a  word,  he  bent  and  examined  the 
stone.  Professional  instinct  mastered  all  other  con 
siderations. 

"You  must  apply  to  that  department."    He  majes- 


42  THE  KING  OF 

tically  waved  his  hand  toward  a  side  counter.  Philip 
obeyed  silently,  and  approached  a  small,  elderly  per 
sonage,  a  man  with  clever,  kindly  eyes,  who  was  sub 
mitting  to  microscopical  examination  a  number  of  tiny 
stones  spread  out  on  a  chamois  leather  folding  case. 
He  quietly  removed  the  case  when  his  glance  rested  on 
the  boy. 

"Well?"  he  said,  blankly,  wondering  why  on  earth 
the  skilled  shop-walker  had  sent  such  a  disreputable 
urchin  to  him.  Philip  was  now  quite  collected  in  his 
wits.  He  held  out  the  pebble,  with  a  more  detailed 
statement. 

"I  found  this,"  he  said.  "I  thought  that  it  might  be 
valuable,  and  a  friend  advised  me  to  bring  it  here.  Will 
you  kindly  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

The  man  behind  the  counter  stared  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  he  reached  over  for  the  stone.  Without  a 
word  he  placed  it  beneath  the  microscope  and  gave  it 
a  very  brief  examination.  Then  he  pressed  it  against 
his  cheek. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  found  it  where  it  had  fallen  on  the  pavement." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"Strange !"  was  the  muttered  comment,  and  Philip 
began  to  understand  that  his  meteor  possessed  attri 
butes  hitherto  unsuspected. 

"But  what  is  it?"  he  inquired,  after  a  pause. 

"A  meteoric  diamond." 

"A  meteoric  diamond?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  it  worth  much  ?" 

"A  great  deal.    Probably  some  hundreds  of  pounds." 


DIAMONDS  43 

Philip  felt  his  face  growing  pale.  That  dirty-white, 
small  stone  worth  hundreds  of  pounds !  Yet  in  his 
pocket  he  had  twenty-nine  other  specimens,  many  of 
them  much  larger  than  the  one  chosen  haphazard  for 
inspection,  and  in  the  back  yard  of  his  tenement  lay 
heaps  of  them,  scattered  about  the  pavement  like  hail 
stones  after  a  shower,  while  the  meteor  itself  was  a 
compact  mass  of  them.  He  became  somewhat  faint, 
and  leaned  against  the  glass  case  that  surmounted  the 
counter. 

"Is  that  really  true?"  was  all  he  could  say. 

The  expert  valuer  of  diamonds  smiled.  His  first  im 
pulse  was  to  send  for  the  police,  but  he  knew  that 
meteoric  diamonds  did  fall  to  earth  occasionally,  and 
he  believed  the  boy's  story.  Moreover,  the  thing  was 
such  a  rarity  and  of  such  value  that  the  holder  must 
be  fully  able  to  account  for  its  possession  before  he 
could  dispose  of  it.  So  his  tone  was  not  unkindly  as 
he  replied : 

"It  is  quite  true,  but  if  you  want  to  ascertain  its 
exact  value  you  should  go  to  a  Hatton  Garden  mer 
chant,  and  he,  most  probably,  would  make  you  a  fair 
offer.  It  has  to  be  cut  and  polished,  you  know,  before 
it  becomes  salable,  and  I  must  warn  you  that  most 
rigid  inquiry  will  be  made  as  to  how  it  came  into  your 
hands." 

"It  fell  from  heaven,"  was  the  wholly  unexpected 
answer,  for  Philip  was  shaken  and  hardly  master  of 
his  faculties. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Personally,  I  believe  you,  or  you 
would  be  in  custody  at  this  moment.  Take  it  to  Messrs. 
Isaacstein  &  Co.,  Hatton  Garden.  Say  I  sent  you — 
Mr.  Wilson  is  my  name — and  make  your  best  terms 


44  THE  KING  OF 

with  Mr.  Isaacstein.  He  will  treat  you  quite  fairly. 
But,  again,  be  sure  and  tell  the  truth,  as  he  will  investi 
gate  your  story  fully  before  he  is  satisfied  as  to  its  ac 
curacy." 

Philip,  walking  through  dreamland,  quitted  the  shop. 
He  mingled  with  the  jostling  crowd  and  drifted  into 
Farringdon  Road. 

"A  diamond — worth  hundreds  of  pounds!"  he  re 
peated,  mechanically.  "Then  what  is  the  whole  meteor 
worth,  and  what  am  I  worth  ?" 


DIAMONDS  45 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Isaac  stein. 

The  keen,  strong,  March  wind  soon  blew  the  clouds 
from  his  brain.  He  did  not  hurry  toward  Hatton 
Garden.  He  sauntered,  rather,  with  his  right  hand 
clinched  on  the  tiny  parcel  in  his  pocket,  the  parcel 
which  had  suddenly  been  endowed  with  such  magic 
potentialities.  It  was  the  instinct  to  guard  a  treasure 
of  great  value  that  led  to  this  involuntary  action.  He 
was  preoccupied,  disturbed,  vaguely  striving  to  grasp 
a  vision  that  seemed  to  elude  his  exact  compre 
hension. 

What  did  it  all  mean?  Was  it  really  possible  that 
he,  Philip  Anson,  orphaned,  beggared,  practically  a 
starving  tramp,  should  have  the  riches  of  Golconda 
showered  upon  him  in  this  mad  fashion.  If  the  small 
stone  he  had  shown  to  the  jeweler  were  worth  hun 
dreds,  then  some  of  those  in  the  paper  were  worth 
thousands,  while  as  for  the  stone  in  the  back  yard  of  his 
house — well,  imagination  boggled  at  the  effort  to  ap 
praise  it.  The  thought  begot  a  sense  of  caution,  of 
reserve,  of  well-reasoned  determination  not  to  reveal 
his  secret  to  anybody.  Perhaps  it  would  be  best  not 
to  take  Messrs.  Isaacstein  &  Co.  wholly  into  his  confi 
dence.  He  would  simply  show  them  the  stone  he  had 
exhibited  to  Mr.  Wilson  and  take  the  best  price  they 
offered.  Then,  with  the  money  in  his  possession,  he 
could  effect  a  much  needed  change  in  his  appearance, 
visit  them  again,  and  gradually  increase  his  supply  of 


46  THE  KING  OF 

diamonds  until  he  had  obtained  more  money  than  he 
could  possibly  spend  during  many  years. 

Above  all  else  was  it  necessary  that  his  meteor  should 
be  removed  to  a  safer  place  than  Johnson's  Mews. 
Philip  had  no  scruples  about  appropriating  it.  Lords 
of  the  Manor  and  Crown  rights  he  had  never  heard 
of. 

His  mother,  watching  his  every  action  from  some 
Elysian  height,  had  sent  the  diamond-loaded  messenger 
as  a  token  of  her  love  and  care.  It  was  his,  and  no 
man  should  rob  him  of  it.  It  behooved  him  to  be 
sparing  of  explanations  and  sturdy  in  defense  of  his 
property. 

A  good  deal  depended  on  the  forthcoming  interview, 
and  he  wished  he  could  convert  a  small  fraction  of  the 
wealth  in  his  pocket  into  a  few  honest  pennies  with  the 
king's  head  on  them.  The  excitement  and  exercise  had 
made  him  hungry  again.  His  breakfast  was  not  of 
ample  proportions,  and  his  meals  of  yesterday  had 
been  of  the  scantiest.  It  would  be  well  to  face  the 
diamond  merchants  with  the  easy  confidence  that 
springs  from  a  satisfied  appetite.  Yet,  how  to  manage 
it?  He  was  sorry  now  he  had  not  borrowed  a  six 
pence  from  O'Brien.  The  old  soldier  would  certainly 
have  lent  it  to  him.  He  even  thought  of  returning  to 
the  Mile  End  Road  to  secure  the  loan,  but  he  happened 
to  remember  that  the  day  was  Saturday,  and  it  was 
probable  that  the  Hatton  Garden  offices  would  close 
early.  It  was  then  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  and  he  could 
not  risk  the  delay  of  the  long,  double  journey. 

At  that  instant  a  savory  smell  was  wafted  to  him. 
He  was  passing  a  small  restaurant,  where  sausages  and 
onions  sizzled  gratefully  in  large,  tin  trays,  and  pork 


DIAMONDS  47 

chops  lay  in  inviting  prodigality  amid  rich,  brown 
gravy.  The  proprietor,  a  portly  and  greasy  man,  with 
bald  head  and  side  whiskers,  was  standing  at  the  door 
exchanging  views  as  to  business  with  his  next-door 
neighbor,  a  greengrocer.  Philip,  bold  in  the  knowledge 
of  his  wealth,  resolved  to  try  what  he  could  achieve 
on  credit. 

He  walked  up  to  the  pair. 

"I  have  not  got  any  money  just  now,"  he  said  to 
the  restaurant  keeper,  "but  if  you  will  let  me  have 
something  to  eat  I  will  gladly  come  back  this  afternoon 
and  pay  you  double." 

Neither  man  spoke  at  first.  Philip  was  always  un 
conscious  of  the  quaint  discrepancy  between  his  style 
of  speech  and  his  attire.  He  used  to  resent  bitterly  the 
astonishment  exhibited  by  strangers,  but  to-day  he  was 
far  removed  above  these  considerations,  and  he  backed 
up  his  request  by  a  pleasant  smile. 

The  fat  man  grew  apoplectic  and  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  sky. 

"Well,  I'm "  he  spluttered. 

The  greengrocer  laughed,  and  Philip  blushed. 

"Do  you  refuse?"  he  said,  with  his  downright  man 
ner  and  direct  stare. 

"Well,  of  all  the  cool  cheek "  The  stout  per 
son's  feelings  were  too  much  for  him.  He  could  find 
no  other  words. 

"It  is  a  fair  offer,"  persisted  the  boy.  "You  don't 
think  I  mean  to  swindle  you,  surely?" 

"Well,  there !    I  never  did !" 

But  the  greengrocer  intervened. 

"You're  a  sharp  lad,"  he  guffawed.  "D'ye  want  a 
job?" 


48  THE  KING  OF 

"No,"  was  the  short  reply.  "I  want  something  to 
eat." 

"Dash  my  buttons,  an'  you're  a  likely  sort  of  kid  to 
get  it,  too.  In  you  go.  I'll  pay  the  bill.  Lord  lumme, 
it'll  do  me  good  to  see  you." 

"Mr.  Judd,  are  you  mad?"  demanded  his  neighbor, 
whose  breath  had  returned  to  him. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  bloomin'  kid  can't  get  through 
a  bob's  worth  if  he  bursts  himself.  'Ere,  I'll  bet  you 
two  bob  'e  pays  up." 

"Done !  Walk  in,  sir.  Wot'll  you  be  pleased  to  'ave, 
sir?" 

Philip's  indignation  at  the  restaurant  keeper's  sar 
casm  yielded  to  his  wish  to  see  him  annihilated  later 
in  the  day.  Moreover,  the  sausages  really  smelt  ex 
cellently,  and  he  was  now  ravenous.  He  entered  the 
shop,  and  gave  his  orders  with  a  quiet  dignity  that 
astounded  the  proprietor  and  hugely  delighted  the 
greengrocer,  who,  in  the  intervals  of  business,  kept 
peeping  at  him  through  the  window.  Philip  ate  stead 
ily,  and  the  bill  amounted  to  ninepence,  which  his  ally 
paid  cheerfully. 

The  boy  held  out  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Judd,"  he  said,  frankly.  "I  will 
return  without  fail.  I  will  not  insult  you  by  offering 
more  than  the  amount  you  have  advanced  for  me,  but 
some  day  I  may  be  able  to  render  you  good  service  in 
repayment." 

Then  he  walked  off  toward  the  viaduct  steps,  and 
Mr.  Judd  looked  after  him. 

"Talks  like  a  little  gentleman,  'e  does.  If  my  little 
Jimmie  'ad  lived  'e  would  ha'  bin  just  about  his  age. 


DIAMONDS  49 

Lord  lumme,  I  'ope  the  lad  turns  up  again,  an'  not 
for  the  sake  of  the  bloomin'  ninepence,  neither.  To 
matoes,  mum?  Yes'm.  Fresh  in  this  mornin'." 

After  crossing  Holborn  Viaduct,  Philip  stood  for  a 
little  while  gazing  into  the  showroom  of  a  motor 
agency.  It  was  not  that  he  was  interested  in  Panhard 
or  De  Dion  cars — then  but  little  known  to  the  general 
public  in  England — but  rather  that  he  wished  to  re 
hearse  carefully  the  program  to  be  followed  with 
Mr.  Isaacstein.  With  a  sagacity  unlocked  for  in  one 
of  his  years,  he  decided  that  the  meteor  should  not 
be  mentioned  at  all.  Of  course,  the  diamond  merchant 
would  instantly  recognize  the  stone  as  a  meteoric  dia 
mond,  and  would  demand  its  earthly  pedigree.  Philip 
resolved  to  adhere  to  the  simple  statement  that  it  was 
his  own  property,  and  that  any  reasonable  inquiry 
might  be  made  in  all  quarters  where  meteoric  diamonds 
were  obtainable  as  to  whether  or  not  such  a  stone  was 
missing.  Meanwhile  he  would  obtain  from  Mr.  Isaac- 
stein  a  receipt  acknowledging  its  custody  and  a  small 
advance  of  money,  far  below  its  real  worth,  leaving  the 
completion  of  the  transaction  until  a  later  date.  The 
question  of  giving  or  withholding  his  address  if  it  were 
asked  for  was  a  difficult  one  to  settle  offhand.  Perhaps 
the  course  of  events  would  permit  him  to  keep  John 
son's  Mews  altogether  out  of  the  record,  and  a  more 
reputable  habitation  would  be  provided  once  he  had  the 
requisite  funds. 

Thinking  he  had  successfully  tackled  all  the  prob 
lems  that  would  demand  solution,  Philip  wasted  no 
more  time.  He  entered  Hatton  Garden,  and  had  not 
gone  past  many  of  its  dingy  houses  until  he  saw  a  large, 
brass  plate,  bearing  the  legend :  "Isaacstein  &  Co.,  Dia- 


50  THE  KING  OF 

mond  Merchants,  Kimberley,  Amsterdam  and  Lon 
don." 

He  entered  the  office  and  was  instantly  confronted 
by  a  big-nosed  youth,  who  surveyed  him  through  a 
grille  with  an  arched  opening  in  it  to  admit  letters  and 
small  parcels. 

"Is  Mr.  Isaacstein  in?"  said  Philip. 

"Oah,  yess,"  grinned  the  other. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him?" 

"Oah,  yess."  There  was  a  joke  lurking  somewhere 
in  the  atmosphere,  but  the  young  Hebrew  had  not 
caught  its  drift  yet.  The  gaunt  and  unkempt  visitor 
was  evidently  burlesquing  the  accent  of  such  gentle 
people  as  came  to  the  office  on  business. 

Philip  waited  a  few  seconds.  The  boy  behind  the 
grille  filled  in  the  interval  by  copying  an  address  into 
the  stamp  book. 

"Why  do  you  not  tell  Mr.  Isaacstein  I  am  here?" 
he  said  at  last. 

"Oah,  yess.  You  vil  be  funny,  eh?"  The  other 
smirked  over  the  hidden  humor  of  the  situation,  and 
Philip  understood  that  if  he  would  see  the  great  man 
of  the  firm  he  must  adopt  a  more  emphatic  tone. 

"I  had  better  warn  you  that  Mr.  Wilson,  of  Messrs. 
Grant  &  Sons,  Ludgate  Hill,  sent  me  here  to  see  Mr. 
Isaacstein.  Am  I  to  go  back  to  Mr.  Wilson  and  say 
that  the  office  boy  refuses  to  admit  me  ?" 

There  was  a  sting  in  the  description,  coming  from 
such  a  speaker. 

"Look  'ere,"  was  the  angry  retort.  "Go  avay  und 
blay,  vil  you?  I'm  pizzy." 

Then  Philip  reached  quickly  through  the  little  arch, 
grabbed  a  handful  of  shirt,  tie  and  waistcoat,  and 


DIAMONDS  51 

dragged  the  big  nose  and  thick  lips  violently  against 
the  wires  of  the  grille. 

"Will  you  do  what  I  ask,  or  shall  I  try  and  pull  you 
through?"  he  said,  quietly. 

But  the  boy's  ready  yell  brought  two  clerks  running, 
and  a  door  was  thrown  open.  Phil  released  his  op 
ponent  and  instantly  explained  his  action.  One  of 
the  clerks,  an  elderly  man,  looked  a  little  deeper  than 
the  boy's  ragged  garments,  and  the  mention  of  Mr. 
Wilson's  name  procured  him  a  hearing.  Moreover, 
he  had  previous  experience  of  the  youthful  janitor's 
methods. 

With  a  cuff  on  the  ear,  this  injured  personage  was 
bidden  to  go  upstairs  and  say  that  Mr.  Wilson  had  sent 
a  boy  to  see  Mr.  Isaacstein.  The  added  insult  came 
when  he  was  compelled  to  usher  Philip  to  a  waiting 
room. 

Soon  a  clerk  entered.  He  was  visibly  astonished  by 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Wilson's  messenger,  and  so  was 
Mr.  Isaacstein,  when  Philip  was  paraded  before  him  in 
a  spacious  apartment,  filled  with  glass  cases  and  tables, 
at  which  several  assistants  were  seated. 

"What  the  deuce "  he  began,  but  checked  him 
self.  "What  does  Mr.  Wilson  want?"  he  went  on. 
Evidently  his  Ludgate  Hill  acquaintance  was  useful  to 
Philip. 

"He  wants  nothing,  sir,"  said  Philip.  "He  sent  me 
to  you  on  a  matter  of  business.  It  is  of  a  private 
nature.  Can  you  give  me  a  few  minutes  alone?" 

Isaacstein  was  a  big-headed,  big-shouldered  man, 
tapering  to  a  small  point  at  his  feet.  He  looked  ab 
surdly  like  a  top,  and  surprise  or  emotion  of  any  sort 
caused  him  to  sway  gently.  He  swayed  now,  and  every 


52  THE  KING  OF 

clerk  looked  up,  expecting  him  to  fall  bodily  onto  the 
urchin  with  the  refined  utterance  who  had  dared  to 
penetrate  into  the  potentate's  office  with  such  a  request. 

Kimberley,  Amsterdam  and  London  combined  to 
lend  effect  to  Isaacstein's  wit  when  he  said : 

"Is  this  a  joke?" 

All  the  clerks  guffawed  in  chorus.  Fortunately, 
Isaacstein  was  in  a  good  humor.  He  had  just  pur 
chased  a  pearl  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  which 
he  would  sell  to  Lady  Somebody  for  eight  hundred 
pounds,  to  match  another  in  an  earring. 

"It  appears  to  be,"  said  Philip,  when  the  merriment 
had  subsided. 

For  some  reason  the  boy's  grave,  earnest  eyes  con 
quered  the  big  little  man's  amused  scrutiny. 

"Now,  boy,  be  quick.  What  is  it?"  he  said,  testily, 
and  every  clerk  bent  to  his  task. 

"I  have  told  you,  sir.  I  wish  to  have  a  few  minutes' 
conversation  with  you  with  regard  to  business  of  an 
important  nature." 

"You  say  Mr.  Wilson  sent  you — Mr.  Wilson,  of 
Grant  &  Sons  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Isaacstein  yielded  to  amazed  curiosity. 

"Step  in  here,"  he  said,  and  led  the  way  to  his 
private  office,  surprising  himself  as  well  as  his  assist 
ants  by  this  concession. 

Philip  closed  the  door,  and  Isaacstein  turned  sharply 
at  the  sound,  but  the  boy  gave  him  no  time  to  frame 
a  question. 

"I  want  you  to  buy  this,"  he  said,  handing  over  the 
diamond, 


DIAMONDS  53 

Isaacstein  took  it,  and  gave  it  one  critical  glance. 
He  began  to  wobble  again. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  Mr.  Wilson  sent  you  to  dis 
pose  of  this  stone  to  me?"  he  demanded. 

''Not  exactly,  sir.  I  showed  it  to  him,  and  he  recom 
mended  me  to  come  to  you." 

"Ah,  I  see.  Sit  down,  there "  indicating  a  chair 

near  the  door.  The  diamond  merchant  himself  sat  at 
his  desk,  but  they  were  both  in  full  view  of  each  other. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  found  it." 

"Quite  so.    But  where?" 

"At  this  moment  I  do  not  wish  to  go  into  details,  but 
it  is  mine,  mine  only,  and  I  am  quite  willing  that  you 
should  make  every  inquiry  to  satisfy  yourself  that  it 
was  not  stolen.  I  suppose  that  is  what  you  fear?" 

Sheer  wonder  kept  the  Jew  silent  for  a  space. 

"Do  you  know  its  value?"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
snap. 

"Mr.  Wilson  told  me  it  was  worth  several  hundreds 
of  pounds." 

"Did  he,  really?" 

"Yes.  He  said  you  would  treat  me  quite  fairly,  so 
I  wish  you  to  advance  me  a  few  pounds  until  you  have 
decided  upon  its  real  price.  You  see,  sir,  I  am  very 
poor,  and  my  present  appearance  creates  an  unfavor 
able  impression.  Still,  I  am  telling  you  the  absolute 
truth,  and  I  show  my  confidence  in  you  and  in  my  own 
case  by  offering  to  leave  the  diamond  with  you  on  your 
receipt,  together  with  a  small  sum  of  money." 

Philip  thought  he  was  getting  on  very  well.  Isaac- 
stein's  large  eyes  bulged  at  him,  and  speech  came  but 
slowly.  He  leaned  forward  and  rummaged  among 


54  THE  KING  OF 

some  papers.  Then  he  opened  a  drawer  and  produced 
a  magnifying  glass,  with  which  he  focused  the  dia 
mond. 

"Yes,  it  is  worth  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds,"  he 
announced,  "but  it  will  be  some  time  before  I  can  speak 
accurately  as  to  its  value.  I  think  it  may  be  flawless, 
but  that  can  only  be  determined  when  it  is  cut." 

Philip's  heart  throbbed  when  he  heard  the  estimate. 

"Then  I  can  have  a  few  pounds "  he  commenced. 

"Steady.  You  are  not  in  such  a  hurry ;  eh  ?  You 
won't  tell  me  where  you  got  it?" 

"I  may,  later,  if  you  continue  to  deal  with  me  as 
honestly  as  you  have  done  already." 

Isaacstein  moved  on  his  seat.  Even  in  a  chair  he 
wanted  to  wobble.  There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"Have  you  any  more  like  this  stone  ?  I  suppose  not, 
eh?" 

"Yes,  I  have  many  more." 

"Eh?  What?  Boy,  do  you  know  what  you  are 
saying  ?" 

"No  doubt  you  are  surprised,  sir,  but  not  more  than 
I  am  myself.  Yet,  it  is  true.  I  have  some — as  big 
again." 

Philip,  in  his  eagerness,  nearly  forgot  his  resolu 
tion  to  advance  slowly.  How  the  diamond  merchant 
would  shake  if  only  he  could  see  some  of  the  white 
pebbles  in  the  meteor. 

"As  big  again!     Where  are  they?" 

The  chair  was  creaking  now  with  the  rhythmic  sway 
ing  of  its  occupant. 

"Where  this  one  came  from,  Mr.  Isaacstein." 

Philip  smiled.  He  could  not  tell  how  it  happened, 
but  he  felt  that  he  was  the  intellectual  superior  of  the 


DIAMONDS  55 

man  who  sat  there  glowering  at  him  so  intently.  Al 
ready  the  boy  began  to  grasp  dimly  the  reality  of  the 
power  which  enormous  wealth  would  give  him.  Such 
people  as  the  Jew  and  his  satellites  would  be  mere 
automata  in  the  affairs  of  his  life,  important  enough  in 
a  sense,  with  the  importance  of  a  stamp  for  a  letter  or 
a  railway  ticket  for  a  journey,  but  governed  and  con 
trolled  utterly  by  the  greater  personage  who  could  un 
lock  the  door  of  the  treasure  house.  For  the  first  time, 
Philip  wished  he  was  older,  bigger,  more  experienced. 
He  even  found  himself  beginning  to  wonder  what  he 
should  do  until  he  reached  man's  estate.  He  sighed. 

Isaacstein  was  watching  him  closely,  trying  to  solve 
the  puzzle  by  the  aid  of  each  trick  and  dodge  known 
in  a  trade  which  lends  itself  to  acute  roguery  of  every 
description.  The  look  of  unconscious  anxiety,  of  men 
tal  weariness,  on  Philip's  face,  seemed  to  clear  away  his 
doubts.  He  chuckled  thickly. 

"How  many,  now,"  he  murmured.  "Ten,  twenty — 
of  assorted  sizes,  eh?" 

"Far  more  !  Far  more !  Be  content  with  what  I  tell 
you  to-day,  Mr.  Isaacstein.  I  said  my  business  was 
important.  When  you  are  better  acquainted  with  me,  I 
think  you  will  find  it  sufficiently  valuable  to  occupy  the 
whole  of  your  time." 

Philip  was  ever  on  the  verge  of  bursting  out  into 
confidences.  His  secret  was  too  vast,  too  overpowering 
for  a  boy  of  fifteen.  He  wanted  the  knowledge  and 
the  trust  of  an  older  man.  He  did  not  realize  that  the 
Jew,  beginning  by  regarding  him  as  a  thief,  was  now 
veering  round  to  the  opinion  that  he  was  a  lunatic. 
For  it  is  known  to  most  men  that  the  values  of  dia 
monds  increase  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  weight. 


56  THE  KING  OF 

While  a  one-carat  stone  is  worth,  roughly  speaking, 
ten  pounds,  a  twenty-carat  gem  of  the  same  purity  is 
worth  any  sum  beyond  two  thousand  pounds,  and  the 
diamond  Philip  had  submitted  for  inspection  would 
probably  cut  into  ten  or  twelve  carats  of  fine  luster. 
To  speak,  therefore,  of  an  abundance  of  larger  and 
finer  stones,  was  a  simple  absurdity.  The  De  Beers 
Company  alone  could  use  such  a  figure  of  speech,  and 
even  then  only  at  isolated  dates  in  its  history. 

The  boy,  with  his  eyes  steadfastly  fixed  on  the  Jew's 
face  and  yet  with  a  distant  expression  in  them  that 
paid  slight  heed  to  the  waves  of  emotion  exhibited  by 
the  heavy  cheeks  and  pursed-up  mouth,  awaited  some 
final  utterance  on  the  part  of  his  questioner.  Surely 
he  had  said  sufficient  to  make  this  man  keenly  alive 
to  the  commercial  value  of  the  "business"  he  offered. 
Under  the  conditions,  Isaacstein  could  not  refuse  to 
give  him  sufficient  money  to  meet  his  immediate  wants. 

The  Jew,  seemingly  at  a  loss  for  words,  bent  again 
over  the  stone.  He  was  scrutinizing  it  closely  when 
a  heavy  tread  crossed  the  outer  showroom  and  the  door 
was  flung  open. 

A  policeman  entered,  and  Isaacstein  bounced  out  of 
his  chair. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,  constable,  to  take  this  boy 
into  custody,"  he  cried,  excitedly.  "He  came  here  ten 
minutes  ago  and  offered  for  sale  a  very  valuable  dia 
mond,  so  rare,  and  worth  so  much,  that  he  must  have 
stolen  it." 

Philip,  too,  sprang  up. 

"It  is  a  lie!"  he  shouted.  "How  dare  you  say  such 
a  thing  when  I  have  told  you  that  it  is  mine !" 

The  policeman  collared  him  by  the  shoulder. 


DIAMONDS  57 

"Steady,  my  young  spark,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Isaacstein 
knows  what  he  is  about,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  is  very 
far  wrong  this  time.  Do  you  know  the  boy,  sir?"  he 
went  on. 

Isaacstein  gave  a  voluble  and  accurate  summary  of 
Philip's  statements.  Each  moment  the  policeman's 
grip  became  firmer.  Evidently  the  boy  was  the  mere 
agent  of  a  gang  of  thieves,  though  it  was  beyond  com 
prehension  that  anyone  short  of  an  idiot  should  choose 
an  emissary  with  broken  boots  and  ragged  clothing  in 
order  to  effect  a  deal  with  the  leading  house  in  Hatton 
Garden. 

Philip  listened  to  the  recital  in  dumb  agony.  His 
face  was  deathly  pale,  and  his  eyes  glowed  with  the 
rage  and  shame  that  filled  his  soul.  So  the  Jew  had 
been  playing  with  him,  merely  fooling  him  until  some 
secret  signal  by  an  electric  bell  had  sent  a  messenger 
flying  for  the  police.  His  dream  of  wealth  would  end 
in  the  jail,  his  fairy  oasis  would  be  a  felon's  cell. 
Very  well,  be  it  so.  If  he  could  help  it,  not  all  the 
policemen  in  London  should  rend  his  secret  from  him. 
With  a  sudden  glow  of  fiery  satisfaction,  he  remem 
bered  that  his  clothing  contained  no  clew  to  his  ad 
dress,  and  he  had  not  given  his  name  either  at  Ludgate 
Hill  or  Hatton  Garden.  How  long  could  they  keep 
him  a  prisoner  ?  Would  others  find  his  meteor  and  rob 
him  of  his  mother's  gift?  In  less  than  a  fortnight 
men  would  come  to  tear  down  the  buildings  in  John 
son's  Mews.  Well,  it  mattered  not.  The  courage  of 
despair  which  nerved  him  the  previous  night  came  to 
his  aid  again.  He  would  defy  them  all,  careless  of  con 
sequence. 

The  policeman  was  saying: 


58  THE  KING  OF 

"It's  a  queer  affair,  sir.  Did  he  really  say  he  had 
lots  more  of  'em?" 

"Yes,  yes !  Do  you  think  I  am  romancing  ?  Per 
haps  they  are  in  his  possession  now." 

"Have  you  any  more  of  these  stones,  boy?" 

Philip,  with  lips  tensely  set,  was  desperately  cool 
again.  He  moved  his  arm,  and  the  constable's  grasp 
tightened. 

"You  are  hurting  me,"  said  the  boy.  "I  merely  wish 
to  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket.  Are  you  afraid  of  me, 
that  you  hold  me  so  fast?" 

The  policeman,  like  the  rest,  did  not  fail  to  notice 
Philip's  diction.  The  scornful  superiority  of  his  words, 
the  challenge  of  the  final  question,  took  him  aback.  He 
relaxed  his  grip  and  grinned  confusedly. 

Philip  instantly  produced  his  paper  of.  diamonds  and 
opened  it  widely,  so  that  all  the  stones  could  be  seen. 
He  handed  the  parcel  to  the  policeman. 

"Take  good  care  of  them,  constable,"  he  said. 
"Judging  from  results,  they  would  not  be  safe  in  that 
man's  hands." 

But  Isaacstein  did  not  hear  the  insult.  When  he 
saw  the  collection  he  nearly  lost  his  senses.  What 
had  he  done?  Was  he  or  the  boy  mad?  Veins  stood 
out  on  his  forehead,  and  he  wobbled  so  fearfully  that 
he  clutched  the  desk  for  support.  A  scarecrow  of  a 
boy  wandering  about  London  with  thousands  of 
pounds'  worth  of  diamonds  in  his  pocket,  wrapped  up 
in  a  piece  of  newspaper  like  so  many  sweets !  There 
were  not  any  meteoric  diamonds  of  such  value  in  all 
the  museums  and  private  collections  in  the  world.  He 
began  to  perspire.  Even  the  policeman  was  astounded, 
quite  as  much  at  being  called  "constable"  by  Philip  as 


DIAMONDS  59 

by  the  mean  appearance  of  articles  presumably  of  great 
value. 

"This  is  a  rum  go.  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Mr. 
Issacstein?"  he  said. 

The  query  restored  the  Jew's  wits.  After  all,  here 
was  the  law  speaking.  It  would  have  been  the  wildest 
folly  for  a  man  of  his  position  to  dabble  in  this  mys 
terious  transaction. 

With  a  great  effort  he  forced  himself  to  speak. 

"Lock  him  up  instantly.  This  matter  must  be  fully 
inquired  into.  And  do  be  careful  of  that  parcel,  con 
stable.  Where  do  you  take  him?  To  the  Bridewell 
station?  I  will  follow  you  in  a  cab  in  five  minutes." 

So  Philip,  handcuffed,  was  marched  down  the  stairs 
past  the  gratified  office  boy  and  out  into  the  street. 

As  for  Isaacstein,  he  required  brandy,  and  not  a  little, 
before  he  felt  able  to  follow. 


60  THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER  V. 

Perplexing  a  Magistrate. 

In  after  years  Philip  never  forgot  the  shame  of  that 
march  through  the  staring  streets.  The  everlasting 
idlers  of  London's  busiest  thoroughfares  gathered 
around  the  policeman  and  his  prisoner  with  grinning 
callousness. 

"Wot's'ebina-doin'of?" 

"Nicked  a  lydy's  purse,  eh  ?" 

"Naw!     Bin  ticklin'  the  till,  more  like." 

"Bli-me,  don't  'e  look  sick !" 

They  ran  and  buzzed  around  him  like  wasps,  sting 
ing  most  bitterly  with  coarse  words  and  coarser  laugh 
ter.  An  omnibus  slowed  its  pace  to  let  them  cross  the 
road,  and  Philip  knew  that  the  people  on  top  craned 
their  necks  to  have  a  good  look  at  him.  When  nearing 
the  viaduct  steps,  the  policeman  growled  something  at 
the  pursuing  crowd.  Another  constable  strode  rapidly 
to  the  entrance  and  cut  off  the  loafers,  sternly  advising 
them  to  find  some  other  destination.  But  the  respite 
was  a  brief  one.  The  pair  reached  Farringdon  Street, 
and  had  barely  attracted  attention  before  they  passed 
the  restaurant  where  Philip  had  lunched.  The  hour 
was  yet  early  for  mid-day  customers,  and  the  bald- 
headed  proprietor  saw  them  coming.  He  rushed  out. 
The  greengrocer,  too,  turned  from  his  wares  and  joined 
in  the  exclamations  of  his  friend  at  this  speedy  de 
nouement  of  the  trivial  incident  of  twenty  minutes 
earlier. 


DIAMONDS  6 1 

The  restaurant  keeper  was  made  jubilant  by  this 
dramatic  vindication  of  the  accuracy  of  his  judgment. 

"The  thievin'  young  scamp!"  he  ejaculated.  "That's 
right,  Mr.  Policeman.  Lock  'im  up.  'E's  a  reg'lar 
wrong  'un." 

The  constable  stopped.  "Hello !"  he  said.  "Do  you 
know  him?" 

"I  should  think  I  did.  'E  kem  'ere  just  now  an'  ob 
tained  a  good  blowout  on  false  pretencies,  an' " 

"  'Old  'ard,"  put  in  the  greengrocer,  "that's  not  quite 
the  ticket.  'E  asked  you  to  trust  'im,  but  you  wouldn't." 

The  stout  man  gurgled. 

"Not  me.  I  know  'is  sort.  But  'e  'ad  you  a  fair 
treat,  Billy." 

"Mebbe,  an'  mebbe  not.  Ennyhow,  two  bob  won't 
break  me,  an'  I'm  sorry  for  the  kid.  Wot's  'e  done, 
Mr.  Policeman  ?"  Mr.  Judd  was  nettled,  yet  unwilling 
to  acknowledge  he  was  wholly  wrong. 

"Stole  a  heap  of  diamonds.  Do  either  of  you  know 
him?" 

"Never  saw  him  afore  this  mornin'." 

"Never  bin  in  my  'ouse  before." 

"Then  come  along,"  and  Philip  was  tugged  onward, 
but  not  before  he  found  courage  to  say : 

"Thank  you  once  more,  Mr.  Judd.  I  will  keep  my 
word,  never  fear." 

"What  are  you  thanking  him  for?"  said  the  con 
stable. 

"For  believing  in  me,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

The  policeman  tried  to  extract  some  meaning  from 
the  words,  but  failed.  He  privately  admitted  that  it 
was  an  extraordinary  affair.  How  came  a  boy  who 
spoke  like  a  gentleman  and  was  dressed  like  a  street 


62  THE  KING  OF 

Arab  to  be  wandering  about  London  with  a  pocketful 
of  diamonds  and  admitted  to  the  private  office  of  the 
chief  diamond  merchant  in  Hatton  Garden?  He  gave 
it  up,  but  silently  thanked  the  stars  which  connected 
him  with  an  important  case. 

At  last  Philip's  Via  Dolorosa  ended  in  the  Bridewell 
police  station.  He  was  paraded  before  the  inspector  in 
charge,  a  functionary  who  would  not  have  exhibited 
any  surprise  had  the  German  Emperor  been  brought 
before  him  charged  with  shoplifting. 

He  opened  a  huge  ledger,  tried  if  his  pen  would  make 
a  hair  stroke  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  said,  laconically : 

"Name?" 

No  answer  from  the  prisoner,  followed  by  emphatic 
demands  from  inspector  and  constable,  the  former 
volunteering  the  information  that  to  refuse  your  name 
and  address  was  in  itself  an  offense  against  the  law. 

Philip's  sang-froid  was  coming  to  his  aid.  The 
horror  of  his  passage  through  the  gaping  mob  had  cau 
terized  all  other  sentiments,  and  he  now  saw  that  if  he 
would  preserve  his  incognito  he  must  adopt  a  ruse. 

"Philip  Morland,"  he  said,  doggedly,  when  the  in 
spector  asked  him  his  name  for  the  last  time  before 
recording  a  definite  refusal. 

"Philip  Morland !"  It  sounded  curiously  familiar  in 
his  ears.  His  mother  was  a  Miss  Morland  prior  to 
her  marriage,  but  he  had  not  noticed  the  odd  coinci 
dence  that  he  should  have  been  christened  after  the 
"Sir  Philip"  of  the  packet  of  letters  so  fortunately  left 
behind  that  morning. 

"Address?" 

"Park  Lane." 


DIAMONDS  63 

The  inspector  began  to  write  before  the  absurdity  of 
the  reply  dawned  on  him.  He  stopped. 

"Is  your  mother  a  caretaker  there,  or  your  father 
employed  in  a  mews?" 

"My  father  and  mother  are  dead." 

"Then  will  you  kindly  inform  us  what  number  in 
Park  Lane  you  live  at?" 

"I  have  not  determined  that  as  yet.  I  intend  to 
buy  a  house  there." 

Some  constables  lounging  about  the  office  laughed, 
and  the  inspector,  incensed  out  of  his  routine  habits, 
shouted,  angrily : 

"This  is  no  place  for  joking,  boy.  Answer  me  prop 
erly,  or  it  will  be  worse  for  you." 

"I  have  answered  you  quite  properly.  The  constable 
who  brought  me  here  has  in  his  possession  diamonds 
worth  many  thousands  of  pounds  belonging  to  me. 
I  own  a  hundred  times  as  many.  Surely  I  can  buy 
a  house  in  Park  Lane  if  I  like." 

The  inspector  was  staggered  by  this  well-bred  in 
solence.  He  was  searching  for  some  crushing  legal 
threat  that  would  frighten  the  boy  into  a  state  of  due 
humility  when  Mr.  Isaacstein  entered. 

The  Hatton  Garden  magnate  again  related  the  cir 
cumstances  attending  Philip's  arrest,  and  the  inspector 
promptly  asked : 

"What  charge  shall  I  enter?  You  gave  him  into 
custody.  Do  you  think  he  has  stolen  the  diamonds?" 

Isaacstein  had  been  thinking  hard  during  a  short 
cab  drive.  His  reply  was  unexpectedly  frank. 

"He  could  not  have  stolen  what  never  existed.  There 
is  no  such  known  collection  of  meteoric  diamonds  in 
the  world." 


64  THE  KING  OF 

"But  there  must  be,  because  they  are  here." 

By  this  time  the  parcel  of  dirty-white  stones  was 
lying  open  on  the  counter,  and  both  Jew  and  policeman 
were  gazing  at  them  intently.  There  was  a  nettling 
logic  in  the  inspector's  retort. 

"I  cannot  answer  riddles,"  said  Isaacstein,  shortly. 
"I  can  only  state  the  facts.  If  any  other  man  in  the 
city  of  London  is  a  higher  authority  on  diamonds  than 
I,  go  to  him  and  ask  his  opinion." 

"Mr.  Isaacstein  is  right,"  interposed  Philip.  "No 
one  else  owns  diamonds  like  mine.  No  one  else  can 
obtain  them.  I  have  robbed  no  man.  Give  me  my 
diamonds  and  let  me  go." 

The  inspector  laughed  officially.  He  gazed  intently 
at  Philip,  and  then  sought  illumination  from  the  Jew's 
perturbed  countenance,  but  Isaacstein  was  moodily  ex 
amining  the  contents  of  the  paper  and  turning  over 
both  the  stones  and  the  scraps  of  iron  with  an  air  of 
profound  mystification. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  inspector,  jubilantly, 
after  a  slight  pause.  "We  will  charge  him  with  being 
in  unlawful  possession  of  certain  diamonds,  supposed 
to  have  been  stolen.  He  has  given  me  a  false  name 
and  a  silly  address.  Park  Lane,  the  young  imp  said 
he  lived  in." 

"A  man  in  your  position  ought  to  be  more  accurate," 
interposed  Philip.  "I  did  not  say  I  lived  in  Park  Lane. 
I  told  you  I  intended  to  buy  a  house  there." 

Seldom,  indeed,  were  the  minor  deities  of  the  police 
station  bearded  in  this  fashion,  and  by  a  callow  youth. 
But  the  inspector  was  making  the  copperplate  hair 
strokes  which  had  gained  him  promotion,  and  his  brain 
had  gone  back  to  its  normal  dullness. 


DIAMONDS  65 

"I  will  just  see  if  we  cannot  bring  him  before  a 
magistrate  at  once,"  he  said,  addressing  Mr.  Isaacstein. 
"Can  you  make  it  convenient  to  attend  the  court  within 
an  hour,  sir  ?  Then  we  will  get  a  week's  remand,  and 
we  will  soon  find  out " 

"A  week's  remand !"  Philip  became  white  again, 
and  those  large  eyes  of  his  began  to  burn.  "What  have 
I  done " 

"Silence !  Search  him  carefully  and  take  him  to  the 
cells." 

The  boy  turned  despairingly  to  the  Jew. 

"Mr.  Isaacstein,"  he  said,  with  a  pitiful  break  in  his 
voice,  "why  do  you  let  them  do  this  thing?  You  are  a 
rich  man,  and  well  known.  Tell  them  they  are  wrong." 

But  Isaacstein  was  wobbling  now  in  a  renewed  state 
of  excitement. 

"What  can  I  do,  boy !"  he  vociferated,  almost  hys 
terically.  "You  must  say  where  you  got  these  stones, 
and  then,  perhaps,  you  can  clear  up  everything." 

Philip's  lips  met  in  a  thin  seam. 

"I  will  never  tell  you,"  he  answered,  and  not  another 
word  would  he  utter. 

They  searched  him  and  found  nothing  in  his  pockets 
save  a  key,  a  broken  knife,  some  bits  of  string  neatly 
coiled,  and  a  couple  of  buttons.  He  spent  the  next 
hour  miserably  in  a  whitewashed  cell.  He  refused 
some  coffee  and  bread  brought  to  him  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  this  was  the  only  sentient  break  in  a  wild  jumble 
of  conflicting  thoughts.  The  idea  came  to  him  that  he 
must  be  dreaming — that  soon  he  would  awaken  amidst 
the  familiar  surroundings  of  Johnson's  Mews.  To 
convince-  himself  that  this  was  not  so,  he  reviewed  the 


66  THE  KING  OF 

history  of  the  preceding  twenty-four  hours.  At  that 
time  yesterday  he  was  going  to  Fleet  Street  with  a 
capital  of  ninepence  to  buy  a  quire  of  newspapers.  He 
remembered  where  he  had  sold  each  of  the  five  copies, 
where  he  bought  a  penny  bun,  and  how  he  came  to  lose 
his  stock  and  get  cuffed  into  the  bargain  for  rescuing  a 
girl  from  an  overturning  carriage. 

Then  his  mind  reverted  to  his  fixed  resolve  to  hang 
himself,  and  his  stolid  preparations  for  the  last  act  in 
his  young  life's  tragedy.  Was  that  where  the  dream 
started,  or  was  the  whole  thing  a  definite  reality,  need 
ing  only  a  stout  heart  and  unfaltering  purpose  to  carry 
him  through  triumphantly?  Yes.  That  was  it.  "Be 
strong  and  brave  and  all  will  be  well  with  you."  Surely 
his  mother  had  looked  beyond  the  grave  when  she 
uttered  her  parting  words.  Perhaps,  if  he  lay  down 
and  closed  his  eyes,  he  would  see  her.  He  always 
hoped  to  see  her  in  his  dreams,  but  never  was  the  vision 
vouchsafed  to  him.  Poor  lad,  he  did  not  understand 
that  his  sleep  was  the  sound  sleep  of  health  and  inno 
cence,  when  dreams,  if  they  come  at  all,  are  but  gro 
tesque  distortions  of  the  simple  facts  of  everyday  exist 
ence.  Only  once  had  he  dimly  imagined  her  presence, 
and  that  was  at  a  moment  which  his  sane  mind  now, 
refused  to  resurrect. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  tired.  Yielding  to  the  conceit, 
he  stretched  himself  on  the  wooden  couch  that  ran 
along  one  side  of  his  narrow  cell. 

Some  one  called  to  him,  not  unkindly. 

"Now,  youngster,  jump  up.    The  van  is  here." 

He  was  led  through  gloomy  corridors  and  placed  in 
a  receptacle  just  large  enough  to  hold  him  uncomfort 
ably  in  a  huge,  lumbering  vehicle.  He  thought  he  was 


DIAMONDS  67 

the  only  occupant,  which  was  true  enough,  the  prison 
ers'  van  having  made  a  special  call  for  his  benefit. 

After  a  rumbling  journey  through  unseen  streets,  he 
emerged  into  another  walled-in  courtyard.  He  was  led 
through  more  corridors,  and  told  to  "skip  lively"  up  a 
winding  staircase.  At  the  top  he  came  out  into  a  big 
room,  with  a  well-like  space  in  front  of  him,  filled  with 
a  huge  table,  around  which  sat  several  gentlemen, 
among  them  Mr.  Isaacstein,  while  on  an  elevated  plat 
form  beyond  was  an  elderly  man,  who  wore  eyeglasses 
and  who  wrote  something  in  a  book  without  looking 
up  when  Philip's  name  was  called  out. 

A  police  inspector,  whom  Philip  had  not  seen  before, 
made  a  short  statement,  and  was  followed  by  the  con 
stable  who  effected  the  arrest.  His  story  was  brief 
and  correct,  and  then  the  inspector  stated  that  Mr. 
Wilson,  of  Grant  &  Sons,  Ludgate  Circus,  would  be 
called  at  the  next  hearing,  as  he — the  inspector — would 
ask  for  a  remand  to  enable  inquiries  to  be  made.  Mean 
while,  Mr.  Isaacstein,  of  Hatton  Garden,  had  made  it 
convenient  to  attend  that  day,  and  would  be  pleased 
to  give  evidence  if  his  worship  desired  to  hear  him. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Abingdon,  the  magistrate. 
"This  seems  to  be  a  somewhat  peculiar  case,  and  I  will 
be  glad  if  Mr.  Isaacstein  can  throw  any  light  upon  it." 

But  Mr.  Isaacstein  could  not  do  any  such  thing. 
He  wound  up  a  succinct  account  of  Philip's  visit  and 
utterances  by  declaring  that  there  was  no  collection  of 
meteoric  diamonds  known  to  him  from  which  such  a 
remarkable  set  of  stones  could  be  stolen. 

This  emphatic  statement  impressed  the  magistrate. 

"Let  me  see  them,"  he  said. 


68  THE  KING  OF 

The  parcel  was  handed  up  to  him,  and  he  examined 
its  contents  with  obvious  interest. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  their  meteoric  origin,  Mr. 
Isaacstein?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Can  you  form  any  estimate  of  their  probable  value  ?" 

"About  fifty  thousand  pounds !" 

The  reply  startled  the  magistrate,  and  it  sent  a  thrill 
through  the  court. 

"Really!  So  much!"  Mr.  Abingdon  was  almost 
scared. 

"If,  after  cutting,  they  turn  out  as  well  as  I  expect, 
that  is  a  moderate  estimate  of  their  worth." 

"I  take  it,  from  what  you  say,  that  meteoric  dia 
monds  are  rare?" 

Isaacstein  closed  his  throat  with  a  premonitory  cough 
and  bunched  up  his  shoulders.  A  slight  wobble  was 
steadied  by  his  stumpy  hands  on  the  rail  of  the  witness 
box.  He  was  really  the  greatest  living  authority  on 
the  subject,  and  he  knew  it. 

"It  is  a  common  delusion  among  diamond  miners 
that  diamonds  fall  from  the  skies  in  meteoric  showers," 
he  said.  "There  is  some  sort  of  foundation  for  this 
mistaken  view,  as  the  stones  are  found  in  volcanic  pipes 
or  columns  of  diamantiferous  material,  and  the  crude 
idea  is  that  gigantic  meteors  fell  and  plowed  these 
deep  holes,  distributing  diamonds  in  all  directions  as 
they  passed.  But  the  so-called  pipes  are  really  the 
vents  of  extinct  volcanoes.  Ignorant  people  do  not 
realize  that  the  chemical  composition  of  the  earth  does 
not  differ  greatly  from  that  of  the  bodies  which  sur 
round  it  in  space,  so  that  the  same  process  of  manu 
facture  under  high  temperature  and  at  great  pressure 


DIAMONDS  69 

which  creates  a  diamond  in  a  meteor  has  equal  powers 
here.  In  a  word,  what  has  happened  in  the  outer  uni 
verse  has  also  happened  at  Kimberley.  Iron  acts  as 
the  solvent  during  the  period  of  creation,  so  to  speak. 
Then,  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  it  oxidizes  by  the  action  of 
air  or  water,  and  the  diamonds  remain." 

The  magistrate  nodded. 

"There  are  particles  of  a  mineral  that  looks  like 
iron  among  these  stones?"  he  said. 

The  question  gave  Isaacstein  time  to  draw  a  fresh 
supply  of  breath.  Sure  of  his  audience  now,  he  pro 
ceeded  more  slowly. 

"That  is  a  certain  proof  of  a  meteoric  source.  A 
striking  confirmation  of  the  fact  is  supplied  by  a  district 
in  Arizona.  Here,  on  a  plain  five  miles  in  diameter, 
are  scattered  thousands  of  masses  of  metallic  iron, 
varying  in  weight  from  half  a  ton  to  a  fraction  of  one 
ounce.  An  enormous  meteoric  shower  fell  there  at 
some  period,  and  near  the  center  is  a  crater-like  hole 
which  suggests  the  impact  of  some  very  large  body 
which  buried  itself  in  the  earth.  All  mineralogists 
know  the  place  as  the  Canyon  Diabolo,  or  Devil's 
Gulch,  and  specimens  of  its  ore  are  in  every  collection. 
Ordinary  tools  were  spoiled,  and  even  emery  wheels 
worn  by  some  hard  ingredient  in  the  iron,  and  analysis 
has  revealed  the  presence  therein  of  three  distinct 
forms  of  diamond — the  ordinary  stone,  like  these  now 
before  you,  both  transparent  and  black  graphite,  and 
amorphous  carbon ;  that  is,  carbon  without  crystalliza 
tion." 

"I  gather  that  the  diamantiferous  material  was  pres 
ent  in  the  form  of  tiny  particles  and  not  in  stones  at 
all  approaching  these  in  size?"  said  Mr.  Abingdon. 


70  THE  KING  OF 

"Exactly.  I  have  never  either  seen  or  heard  of 
specimens  like  those.  In  1886  a  meteor  fell  in  Russia, 
and  contained  one  per  cent,  of  diamond  in  a  slightly 
metamorphosed  state.  In  1846  the  Ava  meteorite  fell 
in  Hungary,  and  it  held  crystalline  graphite  in  the 
bright  as  well  as  the  dark  form.  But,  again,  the  dis 
tribution  was  well  diffused,  and  of  slight  commercial 
value.  Sir  William  Crookes,  or  any  eminent  chemist, 
will  bear  me  out  in  the  assumption  that  the  diamonds 
now  before  your  eyes  are  absolutely  matchless  by  the 
product  of  any  recorded  meteoric  source." 

Isaacstein,  having  delivered  his  little  lecture,  looked 
and  felt  important.  The  magistrate  bent  forward  with 
a  pleasant  smile. 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  highly 
interesting  information  you  have  given,"  he  said.  "One 
more  question — the  inevitable  corollary  of  your  evi 
dence  is  that  the  boy  now  in  the  dock  has  either  found 
a  meteor  or  a  meteoric  deposit.  Can  you  say  if  it  is  a 
matter  of  recent  occurrence?" 

"Judging  by  the  appearance  of  the  accompanying 
scraps  of  iron  ore,  I  should  say  that  they  have  been 
quite  recently  in  a  state  of  flux  from  heat.  The  silicates 
seem  to  be  almost  eliminated." 

The  magistrate  was  unquestionably  puzzled.  Queer 
incidents  happen  in  police  courts  daily,  and  the  most 
unexpected  scientific  and  technical  points  are  elucidated 
in  the  effort  to  secure  an  accurate  comprehension  of 
matters  in  dispute.  But  never,  during  his  long  tenancy 
of  the  court,  had  he  been  called  on  to  deal  with  a  case 
of  this  nature.  He  smiled  in  his  perplexity. 

"We  all  remember  the  copy-book  maxim:  'Let  jus 
tice  be  done  though  the  heavens  fall/  "  he  said ;  "but 


DIAMONDS  71 

here  it  is  clearly  shown  that  the  ideal  is  not  easily 
reached." 

Of  course,  everyone  laughed,  and  the  reporters  plied 
pen  and  pencil  with  renewed  activity.  Here  was  a 
sensation  with  a  vengeance — worth  all  the  display  it 
demanded  in  the  evening  papers.  Headlines  would 
whoop  through  a  quarter  of  a  column,  and  Philip's 
meteor  again  run  through  space. 

The  boy  himself  was  apparently  the  most  disinter 
ested  person  present.  While  listening  to  Isaacstein,  he 
again  experienced  the  odd  sensation  of  aloofness,  of 
lofty  domination,  amidst  a  commonplace  and  insignifi 
cant  environment.  The  Jew  was  clever,  of  course,  but 
his  cleverness  was  that  of  the  text-book,  a  dry  record  of 
fact  which  needed  genius  to  illuminate  the  printed  page. 
And  these  lawyers,  reporters,  policemen,  with  the  vacu 
ous  background  of  loungers,  the  friends  and  bottle  hold 
ers  of  thieves  and  drunkards — the  magistrate,  even,  re 
mote  in  his  dignity  and  sense  of  power — what  were  they 
to  him? — of  no  greater  import  than  the  paving  stones 
of  the  streets  to  the  pulsating  life  of  London  as  it 
passed. 

The  magistrate  glanced  at  Isaacstein  and  stroked  his 
chin.  The  Jew  gazed  intently  at  the  packet  of  dia 
monds  and  rubbed  his  simous  nose.  There  was  a  deep 
silence  in  court,  broken  only  by  the  occasional  shuffle 
of  feet  among  the  audience  at  the  back — a  shuffle  which 
stopped  instantly  when  the  steely  glance  of  a  policeman 
darted  in  that  direction. 

At  last  the  magistrate  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  a  definite  course  of  action. 

"There  is  only  one  person  present,"  he  said,  "who 


72  THE  KING  OF 

can  throw  light  on  this  extraordinary  case,  and  that  is 
the  boy  himself." 

He  looked  at  Philip,  and  all  eyes  quickly  turned  to 
ward  the  thin,  ragged  figure  standing  upright  against 
the  rail  that  shut  him  off  from  the  well  of  the  court. 
The  professional  people  present  noted  that  the  magis 
trate  did  not  allude  to  the  strange-looking  youth  as  "the 
prisoner." 

What  was  going  to  happen?  Was  this  destitute 
urchin  going  to  leave  the  court  with  diamonds  in  his 
pocket  worth  fifty  thousand  pounds?  Oddly  enough, 
no  one  paid  heed  to  Philip's  boast  that  he  owned  far 
more  than  that  amount.  It  was  not  he,  but  his  packet 
of  diamonds,  that  evoked  wonder.  And  had  not  Isaac- 
stein,  the  great  merchant  and  expert,  appraised  them 
openly !  Was  it  possible  that  those  dirty- white  pebbles 
could  be  endowed  with  such  potentiality.  Fifty  thou 
sand  pounds !  There  were  men  in  the  room,  and  not 
confined  to  the  unwashed,  whose  palates  dried  and 
tongues  swelled  at  the  notion. 


DIAMONDS  73 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Game  of  Hazard. 

Philip  knew  that  a  fresh  ordeal  was  at  hand.  How 
could  he  preserve  his  secret — how  hope  to  prevail 
against  the  majesty  of  British  law  as  personified  by 
the  serene  authority  of  the  man  whose  penetrating 
glance  now  rested  on  him  ?  His  was  a  dour  and  stub 
born  nature,  though  hardly  molded  as  yet  in  rigid  lines. 
He  threw  back  his  head  and  tightened  his  lips. 
He  would  cling  to  his  anonymity  to  the  bitter  end,  no 
matter  what  the  cost.  But  he  would  not  lie.  Never 
again  would  he  condescend  to  adopt  a  subterfuge. 

"Philip  Morland,"  began  the  magistrate. 

"My  name  is  not  Philip  Morland,"  interrupted  the 
boy. 

"Then  what  is  your  name?" 

"I  will  not  tell  you,  sir.  I  mean  no  disrespect,  but 
the  fact  that  I  am  treated  as  a  criminal  merely  because  I 
wish  to  dispose  of  my  property  warns  me  of  what  I  may 
expect  if  I  state  publicly  who  I  am  and  where  I  live." 

For  the  first  time  the  magistrate  heard  the  correct 
and  well-modulated  flow  of  Philip's  speech.  If  any 
thing,  it  made  more  dense  the  mist  through  which  he 
was  trying  to  grope  his  way. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"I  mean  that  if  I  state  who  I  am,  I  will  be  robbed 
and  swindled  by  all  with  whom  I  come  in  contact.  I 
have  starved,  I  have  been  beaten,  for  trying  to  earn  a 
living.  I  was  struck  last  night  for  saving  a  girl's  life.. 


74  THE  KING  OF 

I  was  arrested  and  dragged  through  the  streets,  hand 
cuffed,  this  morning,  because  I  went  openly  to  a  dealer 
to  sell  a  portion — to  sell  some  of  my  diamonds.  I  will 
take  no  more  risks.  You  may  imprison  me,  but  you 
cannot  force  me  to  speak.  If  you  are  a  fair  man,  you 
will  give  me  back  my  diamonds  and  let  me  go  free." 

This  outburst  fairly  electrified  the  court.  Philip 
could  not  have  adopted  a  more  domineering  tone  were 
he  the  Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England  charged  with 
passing  a  counterfeit  half-crown.  The  magistrate  was 
as  surprised  as  any. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  argue  with  you,"  he  said,  quietly ; 
"nor  do  I  expect  you  to  commit  yourself  in  any  way. 
But  you  must  surely  see  that  for  a  poverty-stricken 
boy  to  be  found  in  possession  of  gems  of  great  market 
able  value  is  a  circumstance  that  demands  inquiry, 
however  honest  and — er — well  bred  you  may  be." 

"The  only  witness  against  me  has  said  that  the  dia 
monds  could  not  have  been  stolen,"  cried  Philip,  now 
thoroughly  aroused,  and  ready  for  any  war  of  wits. 

"Quite  true.  The  inference  is  that  you  have  discov 
ered  a  meteoric  deposit  of  diamonds." 

"I  have.    Some — not  all — are  before  you." 

A  tremor  shook  the  court.  Isaacstein  swallowed 
something,  and  his  head  sank  more  deeply  below  his 
shoulders. 

"Then  I  take  it  that  you  will  not  inform  me  of  the 
locality  of  this  deposit  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  think  that  by  disclosing  your  name  and 
address  you  will  reveal  that  locality?" 

Philip  grew  red. 

"Is  it  fair,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  iciness  in  his 


DIAMONDS  75 

tone,  "that  a  man  of  your  age  should  use  his  position 
and  knowledge  to  try  and  trip  a  boy  who  is  brought  be 
fore  you  on  a  false  charge  ?" 

It  was  the  magistrate's  turn  to  look  slightly  confused. 
There  was  some  asperity  in  his  reply. 

"I  am  not  endeavoring  to  trip  you,  but  rather  to  help 
you  to  free  yourself  from  a  difficult  position.  How 
ever,  do  I  understand  that  you  refuse  to  answer  any 
questions  ?" 

"I  do."  The  young  voice  rang  through  the  building 
with  an  amazing  fierceness. 

Mr.  Abingdon  bent  over  the  big  book  in  front  of 
him  and  scribbled  something. 

"Remanded  for  a  week,"  he  muttered. 

"Downstairs,"  growled  the  court  jailer,  and  Philip 
disappeared  from  sight.  The  magistrate  was  left  gaz 
ing  at  the  packet  of  diamonds,  and  he  called  Isaacstein, 
the  clerk  of  the  court,  and  two  police  inspectors  into 
his  private  office  for  a  consultation. 

Meanwhile  London  was  placarded  with  Philip's  ad 
ventures  that  Saturday  evening.  Contents  bills  howled 
in  their  blackest  and  biggest  type,  newsvenders  bawled 
themselves  hoarse  over  this  latest  sensation,  journalistic 
ferrets  combined  theory  and  imagination  in  the  effort 
to  spin  out  more  "copy,"  Scotland  Yard  set  its  keenest 
detectives  at  work  to  reveal  the  secret  of  Philip's  iden 
tity,  while  Isaacstein,  acting  on  the  magistrate's  in 
structions,  wrote  to  every  possible  source  of  informa 
tion  in  the  effort  to  obtain  some  clew  as  to  recent  me 
teoric  showers. 

No  one  thought  of  connecting  the  great  storm  with 
the  "Diamond  Mystery."  Meteors  usually  fall  from 
a  clear  sky,  and  are  in  no  way  affected  by  atmospheric 


76  THE  KING  OF 

disturbances,  their  normal  habitat  being  far  beyond  the 
influence  of  the  earth's  envelope  of  air. 

And  so  the  "hunt  for  the  meteor"  commenced,  and 
was  kept  up  with  zest  for  many  days.  "Have  you 
found  it?"  became  the  stock  question  of  the  humorist, 
and  might  be  addressed  with  impunity  to  any  stranger, 
particularly  if  the  stranger  were  a  nice-looking  girl. 
No  one  answered  "What?"  because  of  the  weird  replies 
that  were  forthcoming. 

The  police  failed  utterly  in  their  efforts  to  discover 
Philip's  identity  or  residence.  Johnson's  Mews,  Mile 
End  Road,  might  as  well  be  in  Timbuctoo  for  all  the 
relation  it  bore  to  Ludgate  Hill  or  Hatton  Garden. 
An  East  End  policeman  might  have  recognized  Philip 
had  he  seen  him,  but  the  official  description  of  his 
clothing  and  personal  appearance  applied  to  thousands 
of  hobbledehoys  in  every  district  of  London. 

Two  persons  among  the  six  millions  of  the  metrop 
olis  alone  possessed  the  knowledge  that  would  have 
led  the  inquirers  along  the  right  track.  The  doctor 
who  attended  Mrs.  Anson  in  her  last  illness,  had  he 
read  the  newspaper  comments  on  the  boy's  speech  and 
mannerisms,  might  have  seen  the  coincidence  supplied 
by  the  Christian  name,  and  thus  been  led  to  make  some 
further  investigation.  But  his  hands  were  full  of 
trouble  on  his  own  account.  A  dispenser  mixed  a  pre 
scription  wrongly,  and  dosed  a  patient  with  half  an 
ounce  of  arsenic  instead  of  half  an  ounce  of  cream  of 
tartar.  The  subsequent  inquest  gave  the  doctor  enough 
to  do,  and  the  first  paper  he  had  leisure  to  peruse  con 
tained  a  bare  reference  to  the  "Diamond  Mystery"  as 
revealing  no  further  developments.  He  passed  the 
paragraph  unread. 


DIAMONDS  77 

The  remaining  uncertain  element  centered  in  old 
O'Brien,  the  pensioner.  Now  it  chanced  that  the 
treasury  had  discovered  that  by  a  clerical  mistake  in  a 
warrant,  the  old  man  had  been  drawing  twopence  a 
day  in  excess  of  his  rightful  pension  for  thirty-three 
years.  Some  humorist  in  Whitehall  thereupon  sent 
him  a  demand  for  one  hundred  and  three  pounds  and 
fifteen  shillings,  and  the  member  of  the  Whitechapel 
Division  was  compelled  to  adopt  stern  tactics  in  the 
House  before  the  matter  was  adjusted,  and  O'Brien 
was  allowed  to  receive  the  reduced  quarterly  stipend 
then  due.  During  that  awful  crisis  the  poor,  old  fellow 
hardly  ate  or  slept.  Even  when  it  had  ended,  the  no 
tion  remained  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind  that  the  "murd- 
herin'  government  had  robbed  him  of  a  hundred  gowl- 
den  sovereigns,  an'  more." 

As  for  newspapers,  the  only  item  he  read  during 
many  days  was  the  question  addressed  by  his  "mimber" 
to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  and  the  brief  reply 
thereto,  both  of  which  were  fixed  beforehand  by  mutual 
arrangement. 

In  one  instance  the  name  given  and  afterward  re 
pudiated  by  the  boy  did  attract  some  attention.  On 
the  Monday  following  the  remand,  a  lady  sat  at  break 
fast  in  a  select  West  End  Hotel,  and  languidly  perused 
the  record  of  the  case  until  her  eye  caught  the  words 
"Philip  Morland."  Then  her  air  of  delicate  hauteur 
vanished,  and  she  left  her  breakfast  untouched  until, 
with  hawklike  curving  of  neck  and  nervous  clutching 
of  hands,  she  had  read  every  line  of  the  police  court 
romance.  She  was  a  tall,  thin,  aristocratic-looking 
woman,  with  eyes  set  too  closely  together,  a  curved 
nose,  like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey,  and  hands  cov- 


78  THE  KING  OF 

ered  with  a  leathery  skin  suggesting  talons.  Her  at 
tire  and  pose  were  elegant,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  be 
a  pleasant  sort  of  person.  Her  lips  parted  in  a  vin 
egary  smile  as  she  read.  She  evidently  did  not  believe 
one  word  of  the  newspaper  report  in  so  far  as  the  dia 
mond's  were  concerned. 

"A  vulgar  swindle!"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
"How  is  it  possible  for  a  police  magistrate  to  be  taken 
in  in  such  manner !  I  suppose  the  Jew  person  knows 
more  about  it  than  appears  on  the  surface.  But  how 
came  the  boy  to  give  that  name?  It  is  sufficiently  un 
common  to  be  remarkable.  How  stupid  it  was  of  Julie 
to  mislay  my  dressing  case.  It  would  be  really  interest 
ing  to  know  what  has  become  of  those  people,  and  now 
I  may  have  to  leave  town  before  I  can  find  out." 

How  much  further  her  disjointed  comments  might 
have  gone  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  at  that  moment 
a  French  maid  entered  the  room  and  gazed  inquiringly 
around  the  various  small  tables  with  which  it  was  filled. 
At  last  she  found  the  lady,  who  was  breakfasting  alone, 
and  sped  swiftly  toward  her. 

"I  am  so  glad,  milady,"  she  said,  speaking  in  French. 
"The  bag  has  found  itself  at  the  police  station.  The 
cabman  brought  it  there,  and,  if  you  please,  milady, 
as  the  value  was  given  as  eight  pounds,  he  claimed  a 
reward  of  one  pound." 

"Which  you  will  pay  yourself.  You  lost  the  bag," 
was  the  curt  reply.  "Where  is  it?" 

The  maid's  voice  was  somewhat  tearful  as  she  an 
swered  : 

"In  milady's  room.    I  paid  the  sovereign." 

Her  ladyship  rose  and  glided  gracefully  toward  the 
door,  followed  by  the  maid,  who  whispered  to  a  French 


DIAMONDS  79 

waiter — bowing  most  deferentially  to  the  guest  as  he 
held  the  door  open — that  her  mistress  was  a  cat.  He 
confided  his  own  opinion  that  her  ladyship  was  a  holy 
pig,  and  the  two  passed  along  a  corridor. 

Lady  Morland  hastily  tore  open  the  recovered  dress 
ing  case,  and  consulted  an  address  book. 

"Oh !  here  it  is,"  she  cried,  triumphantly.  "Number 
three,  Johnson's  Mews,  Mile  End  Road,  E.  What  a 
horrid-smelling  place.  However,  Messrs.  Sharpe  & 
Smith  will  now  be  able  to  obtain  some  definite  intelli 
gence  for  me.  Julie !  My  carriage  in  ten  minutes." 

Thus  it  happened  that  during  the  afternoon,  a  dapper 
little  clerk  descended  from  an  omnibus  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Johnson's  Mews,  and  began  his  inquiries,  as  all 
Londoners  do,  by  consulting  a  policeman.  Certain 
facts  were  forthcoming. 

"A  Mrs.  Anson,  a  widow,  who  lived  in  Johnson's 
Mews  ?  Yes,  I  think  a  woman  of  that  name  died  a  few 
weeks  ago.  I  remember  seeing  a  funeral  leave  the 
mews.  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  boy.  Some 
times,  when  I  pass  through  there  at  night,  I  have  seen 
a  light  in  the  house.  However,  here  it  is.  Let's  have  a 
look  at  it." 

The  pair  entered  the  mews  and  approached  the  de 
serted  house.  The  solicitor's  clerk  knocked  and  then 
tried  the  door;  it  was  locked.  They  both  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  in.  Had  Philip  hanged  himself, 
as  he  intended,  they  would  have  been  somewhat  sur 
prised  by  the  spectacle  that  would  have  met  their  eyes. 
As  it  was,  they  only  saw  a  small  room  of  utmost 
wretchedness,  with  a  mattress  lying  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  the  fireplace.  An  empty  tin  and  a  bundle  of 
old  letters  rested  on  a  rickety  chair,  and  a  piece  of 


8o  THE  KING  OF 

sacking  was  thrust  through  two  broken  panes  in  the 
small  window  opposite. 

"Not  much  there,  eh  ?"  laughed  the  policeman. 

"Not  much,  indeed.  The  floor  is  all  covered  with 
dirt,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  bed,  one  would  imagine 
that  the  house  was  entirely  deserted.  Are  you  sure 
Mrs.  Anson  is  dead  ?" 

"Oh,  quite  sure.  Hers  was  rather  a  hard  case,  some 
one  told  me.  I  remember  now ;  it  was  the  undertaker. 
He  lives  near  here." 

"And  the  boy.    Has  he  gone  away?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  haven't  seen  him  lately." 

Each  of  these  men  had  read  all  the  reports  concern 
ing  Philip  and  his  diamonds.  Large  numbers  of  tiny, 
white  pebbles  were  lying  on  the  floor  beneath  their 
eyes,  but  the  window  was  not  clean,  and  the  light  was 
far  from  good,  as  the  sky  was  clouded.  Yet  they  were 
visible  enough.  The  clerk  noticed  them  at  once,  but 
neither  he  nor  the  policeman  paid  more  heed  to  the 
treasures  almost  at  their  feet  than  was  given  by  genera 
tions  of  men  to  the  outcrop  of  the  main  reef  at  Johan 
nesburg.  At  last  they  turned  away.  The  clerk  gave 
the  policeman  a  cigar  with  the  remark : 

"I  will  just  ask  the  undertaker  to  give  me  a  letter, 
stating  the  facts  about  Mrs.  Anson's  death.  I  suppose 
the  boy  is  in  the  workhouse  ?" 

"Who  knows !  It  often  beats  me  to  tell  what  be 
comes  of  the  kids  who  are  left  alone  in  London.  Poor, 
little  devils,  they  mostly  go  to  the  bad.  There  should 
be  some  means  of  looking  after  them,  I  think." 

Thus  did  Philip,  bravely  sustaining  his  heart  in  the 
solitude  of  a  prison,  escape  the  greatest  danger  that 
threatened  the  preservation  of  his  secret,  and  all  be- 


DIAMONDS  8 1 

cause  a  scheming  woman  was  too  clever  to  tell  her 
solicitors  the  exact  reason  for  her  anxiety  concerning 
the  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Anson  and  her  son. 

The  boy  passed  a  dolorous  Saturday  night  and  Sun 
day.  Nevertheless,  the  order,  the  cleanliness,  the  com 
parative  comfort  of  a  prison,  were  not  wholly  ungrate 
ful  to  him.  His  meals,  though  crude,  were  wholesome, 
luxurious,  even,  compared  with  the  privations  he  had 
endured  during  the  previous  fortnight.  The  enforced 
rest,  too,  did  him  good,  and,  being  under  remand,  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  eat,  take  exercise,  read  a  few 
books  provided  for  him,  and  sleep. 

With  Monday  came  a  remarkable  change  in  his  fare. 
A  pint  of  first-rate  cocoa  and  some  excellent  bread  and 
butter  for  breakfast  evoked  no  comment  on  his  part, 
but  a  dinner  of  roast  beef,  potatoes,  cabbage  and  rice 
pudding  was  so  extremely  unlike  prison  diet  that  he 
questioned  the  turnkey. 

"It's  all  right,  kid,"  came  the  brief  answer.  "It's 
paid  for.  Eat  while  you  can,  and  ask  no  questions." 

"But " 

The  door  slammed,  and  at  the  next  meal  Philip  re 
ceived  in  silence  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  nice  tea  cake.  This 
went  on  during  three  days.  The  good  food  and  rest 
had  already  worked  a  marvelous  change  in  his  appear 
ance.  He  entered  the  prison  looking  like  a  starved  dog. 
When  he  rose  on  the  Thursday  morning  and  washed 
himself,  no  one  would  have  recognized  him  as  the  same 
boy  were  it  not  for  his  clothes. 

After  dinner,  he  was  tidying  his  cell  and  replacing 
the  plates  and  the  rest  on  a  tin  tray,  when  the  door 
was  suddenly  flung  open  and  a  warder  cried : 


82  THE  KING  OF 

"Come  along,  Morland.  You're  wanted  at  the 
court." 

"At  the  court!"  he  could  not  help  saying.  "This  is 
only  Thursday." 

"What  a  boy  you  are  for  arguing.  Pick  up  your 
hat  and  come.  Your  carriage  waits,  my  lord.  I  hope 
you  will  like  your  quarters  as  well  when  you  come  back. 
A  pretty  stir  you  have  made  in  the  papers  the  last  five 
days." 

Philip  glanced  at  the  man,  who  seemed  to  be  in  a 
good  humor. 

"I  will  not  come  back,"  he  said,  quietly,  "but  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  who  supplied  me  with  food  while  I 
have  been  here." 

They  were  passing  along  a  lofty  corridor,  and  there 
was  no  superior  officer  in  sight.  The  warder  laughed. 

"I  don't  know,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "but  the  menoo 
came  from  the  Royal  Star  Hotel,  opposite." 

Philip  obtained  no  further  news.  He  passed  through 
an  office,  a  voucher  was  signed  for  him,  and  he  emerged 
into  the  prison  yard,  where  the  huge  prison  van  awaited 
him.  He  was  the  only  occupant,  just  as  on  the  first 
memorable  ride  in  that  conveyance.  When  he  came  to 
the  prison  from  the  police  court  he  had  several  com 
panions  in  misery.  But  they  were  "stretched."  His 
case  was  the  only  "remand." 

During  the  long  drive  Philip  endeavored  to  guess  the 
cause  of  this  unexpected  demand  for  his  presence. 
Naturally,  he  assumed  that  Johnson's  Mews  no  longer 
held  safe  the  secret  of  his  meteor.  Such  few  sensa 
tional  romances  as  he  had  read  credited  detectives  with 
superhuman  sagacity.  In  his  mind,  Johnson's  Mews 
was  the  center  of  the  world.  It  enshrined  the  marvel- 


DIAMONDS  83 

cms — how  could  it  escape  the  thousands  of  prying  eyes 
that  passed  daily  through  the  great  thoroughfare  of  the 
East  End,  but  a  few  yards  away?  Judging  from  the 
remark  dropped  by  the  warder,  all  London  was  talking 
about  him.  A  puzzling  feature  was  the  abundant  sup 
ply  of  good  food  sent  to  him  in  the  prison.  Who  was 
his  unknown  friend — and  what  explanation  was  at 
tached  to  the  incident  ? 

Philip's  emotions  were  no  more  capable  of  analysis 
than  a  display  of  rockets.  Immured  in  this  cage,  rat 
tling  over  the  pavements,  he  seemed  to  be  advancing 
through  a  tunnel  into  an  unknown  world. 

At  last  the  van  stopped,  and  he  was  led  forth  into 
the  yard  of  the  police  court.  He  followed  the  same 
route  as  on  the  previous  Saturday,  but  when  he  as 
cended  into  the  court  itself  he  discovered  a  change. 
The  magistrate,  a  couple  of  clerks,  and  some  policemen 
alone  were  present.  The  general  public  and  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  press  were  not  visible. 

He  had  scarcely  faced  the  bench  when  the  magis 
trate  said : 

"You  are  set  at  liberty.  The  police  withdraw  the 
charge  against  you." 

Philip's  eyes  sparkled  and  his  breast  heaved  tumultu- 
ously.  For  the  life  of  him  he  could  utter  no  word, 
but  Mr.  Abingdon  helped  him  by  quietly  directing  the 
usher  to  permit  the  lad  to  leave  the  dock  and  take  a 
seat  at  the  solicitors'  table. 

Then,  speaking  slowly  and  with  some  gravity,  he 
said: 

"Philip  Morland — that  is  the  only  name  by  which  I 
know  you — the  authorities  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  your  story  is  right.  You  have  unquestionably 


84  THE  KING  OF 

found  a  deposit  of  diamonds,  and  although  this  neces 
sarily  exists  on  some  person's  property,  there  is  no 
evidence  to  show  whose  property  it  is.  It  may  be  your 
own.  It  may  be  situated  beyond  the  confines  of  this 
kingdom.  There  are  many  hypotheses,  each  of  which 
may  be  true;  but,  in  any  event,  if  others  lay  claim  to 
this  treasure  trove — and  I  warn  you  that  the  Crown 
has  a  right  in  such  a  matter — the  issue  is  a  civil  and  not 
a  criminal  one.  Therefore,  you  are  discharged,  and 
your  property  is  now  handed  back  to  you  intact." 

A  clerk  placed  before  Philip  his  parcel  of  diamonds, 
his  key,  the  rusty  knife,  the  pieces  of  string,  and  the 
two  buttons — truly  a  motley  collection.  The  boy  was 
pale,  and  his  voice  somewhat  tremulous  as  he  asked : 

"May  I  go  now,  sir?" 

Mr.  Abingdon  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  passed 
his  hand  over  his  face  to  conceal  a  smile. 

"I  have  something  more  to  say  to  you,"  he  answered. 
"It  is  an  offense  against  the  law  to  withhold  your  name 
and  address.  I  admit  the  powerful  motives  which 
actuated  you,  so  I  make  the  very  great  concession  that 
your  earlier  refusal  will  be  overlooked  if  you  privately 
tell  me  that  which  you  were  unwilling  to  state  pub 
licly." 

Philip  instantly  decided  that  it  would  be  foolish  in  the 
extreme  to  refuse  this  offer.  He  pocketed  his  dia 
monds,  looked  the  magistrate  straight  in  the  face,  and 
said: 

"I  will  do  that,  sir.  As  the  information  is  to  be  given 
to  you  alone,  may  I  write  it  ?" 

The  policemen  and  other  officials  sniggered  at  this 
'display  of  caution,  but  the  magistrate  nodded,  and 


DIAMONDS  85 

Philip  wrote  his  name  and  address  on  a  sheet  of  fools 
cap,  which  he  folded  before  handing  it  to  the  usher. 

To  his  great  surprise,  Mr.  Abingdon  placed  the  paper 
in  a  pocketbook  without  opening  it. 

"I  will  make  no  use  of  this  document  unless  the  mat 
ter  comes  before  me  again  officially.  I  wish  to  point 
out  to  you  that  I  have  brought  you  from  prison  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment,  and  have  spared  you  the  pub 
licity  which  your  movements  would  attract  were  your 
case  settled  in  open  court.  You  are  not  aware,  perhaps, 
that  you  figure  largely  in  the  eyes  of  the  public  at  this 
moment.  There  are  newspapers  which  would  give  a 
hundred  pounds  to  get  hold  of  you.  There  are  thieves 
who  would  shadow  your  every  movement,  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  waylay  and  rob  you — murder  you,  if  neces 
sary.  I  have  taken  precautions,  therefore,  to  safeguard 
you,  at  least  within  the  precincts  of  this  court,  but  I 
cannot  be  responsible  beyond  its  limits.  May  I  ask 
what  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

Philip,  proud  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  cleared  of 
all  dishonor,  was  at  no  loss  for  words  now. 

"First,  I  wish  to  thank  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "You  have 
acted  most  kindly  toward  me,  and,  when  I  am  older,  I 
hope  to  be  permitted  to  acknowledge  your  thoughtful- 
ness  better  than  is  possible  to-day.  I  will  endeavor 
to  take  care  of  myself.  I  am  going  now  to  see  Mr. 
Isaacstein.  I  do  not  expect  that  he  will  send  for  a 
policeman  again.  If  he  does,  I  will  bring  him  before 
you." 

The  magistrate  himself  laughed  at  this  sally. 
"You  are  a  strange  boy,"  he  said.    "I  think  you  are 
acting  wisely.    But — er — you  have  no  money — that  is, 


86  THE  KING  OF 

in  a  sense.    Hatton  Garden  is  some  distance  from  here. 
Let  me — er — lend  you  a  cab  fare." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Philip,  and  Mr.  Abingdon, 
unable  to  account  for  the  interest  he  felt  in  the  boy, 
quite  apart  from  his  inexplicable  story,  gave  him  five 
shillings  and  shook  hands  with  him. 


DIAMONDS  87 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  Business  Transaction. 

Outside  the  police  court,  Philip  drew  as  invigorating 
a  breath  of  fresh  air  as  the  atmosphere  of  Clerkenwell 
permitted.  He  knew  that  an  inspector  of  police  and 
a  couple  of  constables  were  gazing  at  him  curiously 
through  an  office  window,  and  the  knowledge  quickened 
his  wits. 

It  was  worth  even  more  than  his  liberty  to  realize 
that,  in  all  reasonable  probability,  his  meteor  was  safe 
as  yet.  The  police  had  failed  in  their  quest;  whom 
else  had  he  to  fear?  The  company  had  informed  his 
mother  that  her  tenancy  of  Johnson's  Mews  would  not 
be  disturbed  before  the  thirty-first.  Of  course,  her 
death  was  known  to  the  firm,  but  their  written  promise 
to  her  was  verbally  confirmed  to  Philip  by  the  manager. 
It  was  now  the  twenty-fifth.  He  had  five  clear  days, 
perhaps  six,  in  which  to  make  all  his  arrangements. 
The  forced  seclusion  of  the  prison  had  helped  him  in 
one  way — it  gave  him  a  program,  a  detailed  plan. 
Each  step  had  been  carefully  thought  out,  and  Isaac- 
stein's  office  was  the  first  stage  in  the  campaign. 

A  prowling  hansom  passed.    Philip  whistled. 

"Where's  the  fare?"  demanded  the  cabman,  angrily, 
looking  up  and  down  the  street. 

"Drive  me  to  Holborn  Viaduct,  quick,"  said  the 
boy,  with  his  foot  on  the  step. 

Cabby  eyed  him  with  scorn. 


88  THE  KING  OF 

"What's  the  gyme?"  he  growled.  "D'yer  tyke  me 
for  a  mug,  or  what?" 

"Oh,  don't  talk  so  much,"  cried  Philip,  impatiently. 
"Are  you  afraid  I  won't  pay  you?  See!  If  you  lose 
no  more  time,  I  will  give  you  this,"  and  he  held  up  a 
two-shilling  piece  for  the  cabman's  edification. 

It  is  difficult  to  surprise  your  true  Cockney  whip. 
The  man  carefully  folded  the  evening  paper  he  had 
been  reading,  stuffed  it  under  the  strap  which  held  his 
rug  and  cape,  and  chirruped  to  his  horse : 

"Kim  up,  lazy  bones !  We've  got  a  millionaire 
crossin'-sweeper  inside.  What,  ho !  Any  bloomin'  per- 
fession  is  better'n  drivin'  a  keb." 

The  run  was  shorter  than  Philip  anticipated,  but, 
true  to  his  promise,  he  proffered  the  two  shillings. 

The  cabman  looked  at  him.  Something  in  the  boy's 
face  seemed  to  strike  him  as  curious,  and,  notwith 
standing  Philip's  rags,  his  skin  was  scrupulously  clean. 

"Gow  on,"  he  cried.  "I'll  make  yer  a  present  of  that 
trip.  'Ope  it'll  giv  yer  a  fresh  stawt  in  the  world.  Kim 
up,  will  yer !"  And  the  hansom  swung  away  into  the 
traffic,  leaving  the  boy  standing  on  the  pavement  on  the 
north  side  of  the  viaduct.  He  made  a  mental  note  of 
the  cab's  number.  It  was  easy  to  remember — three  8's 
and  a  9 — and  walked  on  toward  Hatton  Garden. 

Meanwhile  the  cabman,  after  varying  luck,  drove  to 
his  yard,  changed  horses,  secured  a  fare  to  a  theater, 
and  joined  the  Haymarket  rank  while  he  took  a  meal 
in  the  cabmen's  shelter. 

"What's  to-day's  bettin'  on  the  National  ?"  he  asked 
a  friend. 

The  evening  paper  was  passed  and  he  cast  an  eye 


DIAMONDS  89 

over  its  columns.     Suddenly  he  rapped  out  a  string 

of  expressions  that  amazed  his  companions. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jimmie?     Missed  a  twenty  to 

one  chance  at  Lincoln?" 

"Great  Scott !    I  thought  he'd  lift  the  roof  off." 

"Go  easy,  mate.    There's  lydies  outside." 

But  the  cabman  still  swore  and  gazed  round-eyed 

at  the  sheet.    And  this  is  what  he  read : 

"The  boy,  Philip  Morland,  whose  possession  of  a 
collection  of  meteoric  diamonds  of  great  value  has 
created  so  much  sensation,  was  brought  up  on  remand 
to-day  at  the  Clerkenwcll  Police  Court,  and  released. 
Mr.  Abingdon  thought  fit  to  hear  the  case  in  camera, 
so  this  ragged  urchin  is  wandering  about  London  again 
with  a  pocketful  of  gems.  He  was  last  seen  entering 
a  cab  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  police  court,  and  in 
quiry  by  our  representative  at  the  Hatton  Garden  offi 
ces  of  Mr.  Isaacstein,  the  diamond  merchant,  whose 
name  has  figured  in  connection  with  the  case,  elicited 
the  information  that  Morland  called  there  about  3  P.  M. 
Mr.  Isaacstein  positively  refused  to  make  any  further 
statement  for  publication,  but  it  is  probable  that  de 
velopments  in  this  peculiar  and  exciting  affair  will  take 
place  at  any  moment." 

In  a  word,  the  journalistic  world  was  exceedingly 
wroth  with  both  Mr.  Abingdon  and  the  Jew  for  balk 
ing  it  of  a  very  readable  bit  of  news.  No  effort  would 
be  spared  to  defeat  their  obvious  purpose.  Philip  must 
be  discovered  by  hook  or  by  crook,  and  badgered  in 
cessantly  until  he  divulged  the  secret  of  the  meteor. 

At  last  the  cabman  became  lucid. 

"I'm  done,"  he  groaned.  "My  brains  are  a  fuzzball. 
'Ere !  Some  one  drink  my  beer.  I'm  goin'  in  fer  cow- 
cow.  I  'ad  this  young  spark  in  my  keb  to-d'y  an'  didn't 


9o  THE  KING  OF 

know  it.  'E  offered  me  two  bob,  'e  did,  an'  I  stood  'im 
a  drive  as  a  treat,  'e  looked  sich  a  scarecrow." 

"Who's  next?"  cried  a  raucous  voice  at  the  door. 

"I  am,"  roared  the  disappointed  one. 

"Well,  look  sharp.  There's  a  hold  gent  a-wavin'  'is 
humbreller  like  mad " 

"Keep  'im.  Don't  let  'im  go.  I'll  be  there  in  'arf  a 
tick.  Who  knows  !  P'raps  it's  Rothschild." 

Meanwhile  Philip  did  not  hesitate  an  instant  once 
he  reached  Isaacstein's  office.  A  new  note  in  his  char 
acter  was  revealing  itself.  Always  resolute,  fearless 
and  outspoken,  now  he  was  confident.  He  pushed  open 
the  swing  door  with  the  manner  of  one  who  expects 
his  fellows  to  bow  before  him.  Was  he  not  rich — able 
to  command  the  services  of  men — why  should  he  fal 
ter?  He  forgot  his  rags,  forgot  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  that  might  yet  beset  his  path,  for  in  very  truth 
he  had  achieved  but  little  actual  progress  since  he  first 
entered  that  office  five  days  earlier. 

But  he  had  suffered  much  since  then,  and  suffering 
had  strengthened  him.  Moreover,  he  had  taken  the 
measure  of  Isaacstein.  There  was  a  score  to  be  wiped 
off  before  that  worthy  and  he  entered  into  amicable 
business  relations. 

The  instant  the  immature  Jew  behind  the  grille  set 
eyes  on  Philip,  he  bounded  back  from  the  window  and 
gazed  at  him  with  a  frightened  look.  Had  this  young 
desperado  broken  out  of  prison  and  come  to  murder 
them  all? 

"Help !  help !"  he  shouted.    "Murder !" 

Clerks  came  running  from  the  inner  office,  among 
them  the  elderly  man  who  interfered  in  Philip's  behalf 
on  the  last  occasion. 


DIAMONDS  91 

"Make  that  idfot  shut  up,"  said  Philip,  calmly,  "and 
tell  Mr.  Isaacstein  I  am  here." 

The  office  boy  was  silenced,  and  the  excitement 
calmed  down.  Yes,  the  diamond  merchant  was  in.  If 
Philip  would  walk  upstairs  to  the  waiting  room,  his 
presence  would  be  announced. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said ;  "but  kindly  see  that  this  ur 
chin  does  not  let  others  know  I  am  here.  I  don't  want 
a  crowd  to  be  gathered  in  the  street  when  I  come  out." 

Such  cool  impudence  from  a  ragamuffin  was  intoler 
able,  or  nearly  so.  But  Isaacstein  ruled  his  minions 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  they  would  fain  wait  the  little 
man's  pleasure  ere  they  ventured  their  wrath  on  the 
boy.  Besides,  they  were  afraid  of  Philip.  Like  most 
people  in  London,  they  had  read  the  newspaper  reports 
of  the  police  court  proceedings,  and  they  were  awed 
by  his  strangely  incomprehensible  surroundings. 

So  he  was  silently  ushered  upstairs,  and  soon  he 
caught  the  thick-voiced  order  of  Isaacstein : 

"Show  him  in." 

The  Jew,  however,  dived  into  his  private  sanctum, 
before  Philip  entered  the  general  office.  The  boy  found 
him  there,  seated  at  his  table. 

The  duel  began  with  qustions : 

"How  did  you  get  out  so  soon  ?  You  were  remanded 
for  a  week." 

"Are  you  going  to  send  for  a  policeman  ?" 

"Don't  be  rude,  boy,  but  answer  me." 

"I  am  not  here  to  satisfy  your  curiosity,  Mr.  Isaac 
stein.  I  have  called  simply  on  a  matter  of  business. 
It  is  sufficient  for  you  to  know  that  Mr.  Abingdon  has 
set  me  at  liberty  and  restored  my  property  to  me.  Do 
you  wish  to  deal  with  me  or  not?" 


92  THE  KING  OF 

The  diamond  merchant  tingled  with  anger.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  being  browbeaten  even  by  the  rep 
resentatives  of  the  De  Beers  Company,  yet  here  was  a 
callow  youngster  addressing  him  in  this  outrageous 
fashion,  betraying,  too,  an  insufferable  air  of  contempt 
in  voice  and  manner.  He  glared  at  Philip  in  silent 
wrath  for  an  instant. 

The  boy  smiled.  He  took  from  his  pocket  the  paper 
of  diamonds  and  began  to  count  them.  The  action  said 
plainly : 

"You  know  you  cannot  send  me  away.  If  I  go  to 
your  trade  rivals  you  will  lose  a  magnificent  oppor 
tunity.  You  are  in  my  hands.  No  matter  how  rude  I 
am  to  you,  you  must  put  up  with  it." 

Nevertheless,  the  Jew  made  an  effort  to  preserve  his 
tottering  dignity. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  behaving 
properly  in  treating  a  man  of  my  position  in  such  g 
way  in  his  own  office?" 

In  his  own  office — that  was  the  sting  of  it. 

The  head  of  the  firm  of  Isaacstein  &  Co.,  of  London4 
Amsterdam  and  Kimberley,  to  be  bearded  in  such  fash 
ion  in  his  own  particular  shrine !  Why,  the  thing  was 
monstrous ! 

Philip  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"Air.  Isaacstein,"  he  said,  calmly,  "have  you  for 
gotten  that  you  caused  me  to  be  arrested  as  a  thief 
and  dragged,  handcuffed,  through  the  open  streets  by 
a  policeman?  I  have  spent  five  days  in  jail  because  of 
you.  At  the  moment  when  I  was  praising  your  honesty 
you  were  conveying  secret  signals  to  your  clerks  in 
the  belief  that  I  was  something  worse  than  a  pick- 


DIAMONDS  93 

pocket  Was  your  treatment  of  me  so  free  from  blame 
at  our  first  meeting  as  to  serve  as  a  model  at  the 
second  ?" 

The  chair  was  creaking  now  continuously ;  the  Jew 
swung  from  side  to  side  during  this  lecture.  He  strove 
hard  to  restrain  himself,  but  the  feverish  excitement  of 
Saturday  returned  with  greater  intensity  than  ever. 
He  jumped  up,  and  Philip  imagined  for  a  second  that 
robbery  with  violence  was  imminent. 

"Confound  it  all,  boy !"  yelled  the  merchant,  "what 
was  I  to  do  when  a  ragged  loafer  like  you  came  in  and 
showed  me  a  diamond  worth  a  thousand  pounds  and 
told  me  he  had  dozens,  hundreds,  more  like  it?  Did 
you  expect  me  to  risk  standing  in  the  dock  by  your 
side?  Who  could  have  given  fairer  evidence  in  your 
behalf  than  I  did?  Who  proved  that  you  could  not 
have  stolen  the  stones?  Whom  have  you  to  thank  for 
being  at  liberty  now,  but  the  expert  who  swore  that  no 
such  diamonds  had  been  seen  before  in  this  world  ?'" 

Philip  waited  until  the  man's  passion  had  exhausted 
itself.  Then  he  went  on  coolly : 

"That  is  your  point  of  view,  I  suppose.  Mine  is  that 
you  could  have  satisfied  yourself  concerning  all  those 
points  without  sending  me  to  prison.  However,  this 
discussion  is  beside  the  present  question.  Will  you 
buy  my  diamonds?" 

Isaacstein  recovered  his  seat.  He  wiped  his  face 
vigorously,  but  the  trading  instinct  conquered  his  fury. 

"Yes,"  he  snapped.  "How  much  do  you  want  for 
them?" 

"I  notice  that  their  value  steadily  increases.  The 
first  time  you  saw  this  diamond" — and  he  held  up  the 


94  THE  KING  OF 

stone  originally  exhibited  to  the  Jew — "you  said  it 
was  worth  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds.  To-day  you 
name  a  thousand.  However,  I  will  take  your  own 
valuation  for  this  unimportant  collection,  and  accept 
fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"Oh,  you  will,  will  you !  And  how  will  you  have  it, 
in  notes  or  gold?" 

He  could  not  help  this  display  of  cheap  sarcasm. 
The  situation  was  losing  its  annoyance ;  the  humor  of 
it  was  beginning  to  dawn  on  him.  When  his  glance 
rested  more  critically  on  Philip,  the  boy's  age,  the 
poverty  of  his  circumstances,  the  whole  fantastic  in 
congruity  of  the  affair,  forced  his  recognition. 

Not  unprepared  for  such  a  retort,  Philip  gathered 
the  stones  together,  and  twisted  the  ends  of  the  paper. 
Evidently  the  parcel  was  going  back  into  his  pocket. 
He  glanced  at  a  clock,  too,  which  ticked  solemnly  over 
the  office  door. 

"Here,  what  are  you  doing?"  cried  Isaacstein. 

"Going  to  some  one  who  will  deal  with  me  in  a  rea 
sonable  manner.  It  is  not  very  late  yet.  I  suppose 
there  are  plenty  of  firms  like  yours  in  Hatton  Gar 
den,  or  I  can  go  back  to  Mr.  Wilson " 

"Sit  down.  Sit  down,"  growled  the  Jew,  vainly 
striving  to  cloak  his  nervousness  by  a  show  of  grim 
jocosity.  "I  never  saw  such  a  boy  in  my  life.  You 
are  touchy  as  gunpowder.  I  was  only  joking." 

"I  am  not  joking,  Mr.  Isaacstein.  Your  price  is  my 
price — fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"Do  you  think  I  carry  that  amount  of  money  in  my 
purse?"  demanded  Isaacstein,  striving  desperately  to 
think  out  some  means  whereby  he  could  get  Philip 


DIAMONDS  95 

into  more  amiable  mood,  when,  perchance,  the  true 
story  of  the  gems  might  be  revealed. 

"No,"  was  the  answer.  "Even  if  you  gave  it  to  me 
I  should  not  take  it  away.  I  want  you  to  advance,  say 
fifty  pounds,  to-day.  I  require  clothes — and  other 
things.  Then,  to-morrow,  you  can  bring  me  to  a  bank, 
and  pay  a  portion  of  the  purchase  price  to  my  credit, 
giving  me  at  the  same  time  a  written  promise  to  pay 
the  remainder  within  a  week,  or  a  month — any  rea 
sonable  period,  in  fact." 

The  diamond  merchant  was  quickly  becoming  seri 
ous,  methodical,  as  he  listened.  This  business-like 
proposal  was  the  one  thing  needed  to  restore  his  be 
wildered  faculties. 

"Tell  me,  boy,"  he  said,  "who  has  been  advising 
you  ?" 

"No  one." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  came  here  to-day  to  trade 
with  me  without  consulting  any  other  person?" 

"I  certainly  told  Mr.  Abingdon  I  was  coming,  and 
I  feel  that  I  can  always  return  to  him  for  any  advice 
if  I  am  in  a  difficulty,  but  the  offer  I  have  just  made 
is  my  own." 

Watching  Isaacstein's  face  was  an  interesting  opera 
tion  to  Philip.  Under  ordinary  conditions  he  might 
as  well  expect  to  find  emotion  depicted  in  a  pound  of 
butter  as  in  that  oily  countenance,  with  its  set  ex 
pression  molded  by  years  of  sharp  dealings.  But  to 
day  the  man  was  startled  out  of  all  the  accustomed 
grooves  of  business.  He  was  confronted  with  a  prob 
lem  so  novel  that  his  experience  was  not  wide  enough 
to  embrace  it. 

So  Philip  caught  a  gleam  of  resentment  at  the  intro- 


96  THE  KING  OF 

duction  of  the  magistrate's  name,  and  he  instantly 
resolved  to  see  Mr.  Abingdon  again  at  the  earliest 
opportunity. 

"Oh,  he  treated  you  kindly  to-day,  did  he?"  snarled 
Isaacstein. 

"Yes,  most  kindly." 

"You  don't  drink,  I  suppose?"  broke  in  the  other, 
abruptly. 

"No.  I  am  only  a  boy  of  fifteen,  and  do  not  need 
stimulants." 

He  was  favored  with  a  sharp  glance  at  this  remark, 
but  he  bent  over  his  diamonds  again  and  began  to 
examine  them,  one  by  one.  He  knew  that  the  action 
was  tantalizing  to  his  companion,  and  that  is  why  he 
did  it. 

Isaacstein  went  to  a  sideboard  and  poured  out  a  stiff 
glass  of  brandy.  He  swallowed  it  as  an  ordinary  per 
son  takes  an  oyster. 

"That's  better,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  desk. 
"Now  we  can  get  to  close  quarters.  Hand  over  the 
stones." 

Philip  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 

"Why  ?"  he  inquired,  blandly.  "You  know  all  about 
them.  You  can  hardly  want  to  examine  them  so  fre 
quently." 

"Confound  it!"  cried  Isaacstein,  growing  red  with 
renewed  impatience,  "what  more  can  I  do  than  agree 
to  your  terms?" 

"I  asked  you  for  an  advance  of  fifty  pounds.  I  said 
nothing  about  leaving  the  diamonds  in  your  charge. 
Please  listen  to  me.  I  make  no  unreasonable  demands. 
If  you  wish  to  keep  the  stones  now  you  must  first  write 
me  a  letter  stating  the  agreement  between  us.  If  it 


DIAMONDS  97 

is  right  I  will  give  you  the  diamonds.     If  it  is  not  ac 
cording  to  my  ideas  you  must  alter  it." 

"Do  you  think  I  mean  to  swindle  you?" 

"I  have  no  views  on  that  point.  I  am  only  telling 
you  what  my  conditions  are." 

Isaacstein  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  regarded  Philip 
fixedly  and  with  as  much  calmness  as  he  could  sum 
mon  to  his  aid.  A  ray  of  sunshine  illumined  a  bald 
patch  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  the  boy  found  him 
self  idly  speculating  on  developments  in  the  Jew's  fu 
ture  life.  The  man,  on  his  part,  was  seeking  to  read 
the  boy's  inscrutable  character,  but  the  fixity  of 
Philip's  gaze  at  his  denuded  crown  disconcerted  him 
again. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  he  demanded,  suddenly. 

"I  was  wondering  how  you  will  look  when  you  go  to 
heaven,  Mr.  Isaacstein,"  was  the  astounding  reply. 

For  some  reason  it  profoundly  disturbed  his  hearer. 
He  wobbled  for  a  little  while,  and  finally  seemed  to 
make  up  his  mind,  though  he  sighed  perplexedly.  The 
Jew  was  not  a  bad  man.  In  business  he  was  noted  for 
exceeding  shrewdness  combined  with  strict  commer 
cial  honesty.  But  the  case  that  now  presented  itself 
contained  all  the  elements  of  temptation.  No  matter 
how  clever  this  boy  might  be,  he  was  but  a  boy,  and 
opportunities  for  cheating  him  must  arrive.  If  not  he, 
Isaacstein,  there  were  others.  The  boy  possessed  a 
large  store,  possibly  a  very  large  store,  of  rough  gems, 
and  in  dealing  with  them  his  agents  could  rob  him 
with  impunity.  Yet,  in  answer  to  an  unguarded  ques 
tion,  this  extraordinary  youth  admitted  that  Isaacstein 
might  merit  eternal  bliss.  Such  an  eventuality  had 
not  occurred  to  the  Jew  himself  during  unrecorded 


98  THE  KING  OF 

years.  Now  that  it  was  suggested  to  him  it  disturbed 
him. 

"You  imagine  then  that  I  may  deal  fairly  with  you  ?" 
he  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  yes.  Why  should  you  rob  me?  You  can  earn 
more  money  than  you  can  ever  need  in  this  world  by 
looking  after  my  interests  properly.  If  only  you  will 
believe  this  statement  it  will  save  you  much  future 
worry,  I  assure  you." 

"Were  you  in  earnest  when  you  said  that  you  have 
&n  abundance  of  stones  like  those  in  your  hands  ?" 

"So  many,  Mr.  Isaacstein,  that  you  will  have  some 
trouble  in  disposing  of  them.  I  have  diamonds  as  big, 
as  big — let  me  see — as  big  as  an  egg." 

The  wonder  is  that  the  Jew  did  not  faint. 

"My  God !"  he  gurgled,  "do  you  know  what  you  are 
saying?  Where  are  they,  boy?  You  will  be  robbed, 
murdered  for  their  sake.  Where  are  they?  Let  me 
put  them  in  some  safe  place.  I  will  deal  honestly  by 
you.  I  swear  it,  by  all  that  I  hold  sacred.  But  you 
must  have  them  taken  care  of." 

"They  are  quite  safe;  be  certain  of  that.  Reveal 
my  secret  I  will  not.  I  have  borne  insult  and  impris 
onment  to  preserve  it,  so  it  is  not  likely  I  will  yield 
now  to  your  appeals." 

Philip's  face  lit  up  with  a  strange  light  as  this  protest 
left  his  lips.  The  meteor  was  his  mother's  bequest. 
She  gave  it  to  him,  and  she  would  safeguard  it.  Had 
she  failed  hitherto?  Was  not  all  London  ringing  with 
the  news  of  his  fortune,  yet  what  man  or  woman  had 
discovered  the  whereabouts  of  his  treasure?  In  his 
pocket  he  felt  the  great  iron  key  of  No.  3,  Johnson's 
Mews,  and  he  was  as  certain  now  that  his  hiding  place 


DIAMONDS  99 

was  unknown  as  that  his  mother's  spirit  was  looking 
down  on  him  from  heaven,  and  directing  his  every 
movement. 

The  Jew,  in  spite  of  his  own  great  lack  of  com 
posure,  saw  the  fleeting  glimpse  of  spirituality  in  the 
boy's  eyes.  Puzzled  and  disturbed  though  he  was,  he 
made  another  violent  effort  to  pull  his  shattered  nerves 
into  order. 

"There  is  no  need  to  talk  all  day,"  he  said,  doggedly. 
"Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  you  don't 
know.  If  your  boast  is  justified — if  you  really  own  as 
many  diamonds,  and  as  good  ones,  as  you  say  you 
own — there  must  be  a  great  deal  of  discretion  exer 
cised  in  putting  them  on  the  market.  Diamonds  are 
valuable  only  because  they  are  rare.  There  is  a  limit 
to  their  possible  purchasers.  If  the  diamond  mines 
of  the  world  were  to  pour  all  their  resources  forthwith 
into  the  lap  of  the  public,  there  would  be  such  a  slump 
that  prices  would  drop  fifty,  sixty,  even  eighty  per 
cent.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Philip. 

A  week  earlier  he  would  have  said,  "Yes,  sir,"  but  his 
soul  was  bitter  yet  against  Isaacstein. 

"Very  well.  It  may  take  me  months,  years,  to 
realize  your  collection.  To  do  it  properly  I  must  have 
some  idea  of  its  magnitude.  If  there  are  exceptionally 
large  stones  among  it,  they  will  be  dealt  with  sep 
arately.  They  may  rival  or  eclipse  the  few  historical 
diamonds  of  the  world,  but  their  worth  can  only  be 
measured  by  the  readiness  of  some  fool  to  pay  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  for  them.  See  ?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Philip  again.  His  sententiousness 
brought  the  man  to  the  point. 


ioo  THE  KING  OF 

"Therefore  you  must  take  me  into  your  confidence. 
What  quantity  of  stones  do  you  possess,  and  what  are 
their  sizes  ?  I  must  know." 

Isaacstein,  cooler  now,  pursed  his  Tips  and  pressed 
his  thumbs  together  until  they  appeared  to  be  in  dan 
ger  of  dislocation.  It  was  his  favorite  attitude  when 
engaged  in  a  deal.  It  signified  that  he  had  cornered 
his  victim.  Philip,  appealed  to  in  this  strictly  com 
mercial  way,  could  not  fail  to  see  it  was  to  his  own 
interest  to  tell  his  chosen  expert  the  exact  facts,  and 
nothing  but  the  facts. 

The  boy,  singularly  unflurried  in  tone  and  manner, 
hazarded  an  inquiry. 

"What  amount  of  ordinary  diamonds,  in  their  money 
value  I  mean,  can  you  dispose  of  readily  in  the  course 
of  a  year,  Mr.  Isaacstein?" 

"Oh,  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  pounds'  wrorth ; 
it  is  a  matter  largely  dependent  on  the  condition  of 
trade  generally.  But  that  may  be  regarded  as  a  mini 
mum." 

"And  the  bigger  stones,  worth  many  thousands 
each?" 

"It  is  impossible  to  say.  Taking  them  in  the  lump, 
at  values  varying  from  a  thousand  each  to  fancy  fig 
ures,  perhaps  fifty  thousand  pounds'  worth." 

"It  would  be  safe  to  reckon  on  a  quarter  of  a  million 
a  year,  all  told  ?" 

"Quite  safe." 

"Then,  Mr.  Isaacstein,  I  will  supply  you  with  dia 
monds  of  that  value  every  year  for  many  years." 

The  Jew  relaxed  the  pressure  on  his  thumbs.  In 
deed  he  passed  a  tremulous  hand  across  his  forehead. 


DIAMONDS  101 

He  was  beaten  again,  and  he  knew  it — worsted  by  a 
gutter  snipe  in  a  war  of  wits. 

The  contest  had  one  excellent  effect.  It  stopped 
all  further  efforts  on  Isaacstein's  part  to  wrest  Philip's 
secret  from  him.  Thenceforth  he  asked  for,  and  ob 
tained,  such  diamonds  as  he  needed,  and  resolutely  for 
bade  himself  the  luxury  of  questioning  or  probing  the 
extent  of  his  juvenile  patron's  resources. 

But  there  was  a  long  pause  before  he  found  his 
tongue  again.  His  voice  had  lost  its  aggressiveness 
when  he  said : 

"In  the  police  court  I  valued  the  diamonds  you  pro 
duced  at  fifty  thousand  pounds.  It  does  not  necessarily 
follow  that  I  am  prepared  to  give  such  a  sum  for  them 
at  this  moment.  I  might  do  so  as  a  speculation,  but 
I  take  it  you  do  not  want  me  to  figure  in  that  capacity. 
It  will  be  better  for  you,  safer  for  me,  if  I  become 
your  agent.  I  will  take  your  stones  to  Amsterdam, 
have  them  cut  sufficiently  to  enable  dealers  to  assess 
their  true  worth,  and  sell  them  to  the  best  advantage. 
My  charge  will  be  ten  per  cent,  and  I  pay  all  expenses. 
To-day  I  will  give  you  fifty  pounds.  To-morrow  I 
will  take  you  to  a  bank  and  place  five  thousand  to  your 
credit.  Meanwhile,  I  will  give  you  a  receipt  for  thirty 
stones,  weighing,  in  the  rough,  so  many  carats,  and 
you,  or  anyone  you  may  appoint,  can  see  the  sale 
vouchers  subsequently,  when  I  will  hand  you  the  bal 
ance  after  deducting  £5,050  and  my  ten  per  cent.  The 
total  price  may  exceed  fifty  thousand,  or  it  may  be 
less,  but  I  do  not  think  I  will  be  far  out  in  my  estimate. 
Are  you  agreeable?" 

Some  inner  monitor  told  Philip  that  the  Jew  was 
talking  on  sound  business  lines.  There  was  a  ring  of 


102  THE  KING  OF 

sincerity  in  his  voice.  Apparently  he  had  thrust 
temptation  aside,  and  was  firmly  resolved  to  be  content 
with  his  ten  per  cent. 

And  this  might  well  be.  Twenty-five  thousand 
pounds  a  year  earned  by  a  few  journeys  to  the  Con 
tinent — a  few  haggling  interviews  in  the  Hatton  Gar 
den  office  !  What  a  gold  mine !  Moreover,  he  would 
be  the  head  man  in  the  trade.  He  was  that  now,  in 
some  respects ;  but  under  the  new  conditions  none 
could  gainsay  his  place  at  the  top.  Even  the  magnates 
of  Kimberley  would  be  staggered  by  this  new  source 
of  supply.  What  did  it  matter  if  the  boy  kept  to  his 
rags  and  amazed  the  world,  so  long  as  the  diamonds 
were  forthcoming?  It  was  no  silk-hatted  gentleman 
who  first  stumbled  across  the  diamond-laden  earth  of 
South  Africa.  Isaacstein  had  made  up  his  mind. 
Fate  had  thrust  this  business  into  his  lap.  He  would 
be  a  fool  to  lose  it  out  of  mere  curiosity. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.     "I  agree  to  that." 

"Samuel !"  yelled  Isaacstein. 

"Coming,  sir,"  was  the  answering  shout,  and  a  flur 
ried  clerk  appeared. 

"Bring  in  the  scales,  Samuel." 

The  scales  were  brought,  and  a  level  space  cleared 
for  them  on  the  desk.  Philip,  of  course,  had  never 
before  seen  an  instrument  so  delicately  adjusted.  A 
breath  would  serve  to  depress  the  balance. 

The  boy  held  forth  his  paper,  and  poured  the  con 
tents  into  the  tiny  brass  tray  of  the  scales.  Samuel's 
mouth  opened  and  his  eyes  widened.  It  was  his  first 
sight  of  the  diamonds. 

"Four  ounces,  eight  pennyweights,  five  grains — six 


DIAMONDS  103 

hundred  and  twenty -nine  carats  in  thirty  stones.  Oh, 
good  gracious  me!"  murmured  the  clerk. 

Isaacstein  checked  the  record  carefully. 

"Right!"  he  said.     "Put  them  in  the  safe." 

Philip  raised  no  protest  this  time.  He  knew  that 
the  Jew  would  keep  his  word.  Indeed,  Isaacstein  told 
Samuel  to  bring  him  fifty  sovereigns,  and  ere  the  man 
returned  he  began  to  write  on  a  sheet  of  letter  paper : 

"Received  from Here !  what's  your  name  ?"  he 

broke  in. 

"Philip." 

"Philip  what?" 

"That  will  do  to-day,  thank  you.  The  next  time 
I  call  I  will  give  you  my  full  name  and  address." 

"Please  yourself.  I  am  no  judge  in  this  matter," 
and  he  wrote  on : 

"Received  from  Philip,  a  boy  who  refuses  any  other 
name,  but  the  same  whom  I  saw  in  this  office  on  the 
twentieth  inst.,  and  again  at  the  Clerkenwell  Police 
Court  on  that  date,  thirty  meteoric  diamonds  weighing 
in  the  gross  six  hundred  and  twenty-nine  carats.  I 
hereby  agree  to  dispose  of  the  same,  and  to  render  true 
account  of  sales  to  the  said  Philip  or  his  agents.  My 
commission  to  be  ten  per  cent. ;  the  expenses  payable 
by  me.  I  have  to-day  handed  the  said  Philip  fifty 
pounds  in  gold,  and  undertake  to  place  five  thousand 
pounds  to  his  credit  to-morrow  with  my  bankers. 

"REUBEN  ISAACSTEIN." 

After  completing  this  acknowledgment  he  scribbled 
something  else. 

"There,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "that  is  not 
a  very  formal  document,  but  it  will  suffice.  You  can 
get  it  stamped  to-morrow  at  Somerset  House.  Just 
sign  this  receipt  for  fifty  pounds." 


104  THE  KING  OF 

Philip  took  the  two  papers  and  read  them  carefully. 
Isaacstein's  handwriting  was  a  scrawl,  but  legible 
enough.  The  boy  reached  for  a  pen  and  signed  his 
Christian  name.  He  was  on  the  point  of  adding  his 
surname  in  an  unguarded  moment,  but  he  felt  the 
Jew's  eye  on  him.  So  he  simply  wrote  "Philip"  across 
the  stamp  at  the  foot  of  the  receipt. 

Isaacstein  fully  appreciated  the  incident,  and  knew 
that  his  own  eagerness  defeated  the  chance,  all  the  more 
powerful  because  it  was  involuntary,  of  ascertaining 
the  name  of  this  marvelous  youth. 

Philip  gathered  up  his  gold,  not  without  counting 
the  coins.  They  felt  strangely  heavy  in  his  pocket, 
much  heavier  than  the  stones  they  replaced.  Yet  they 
formed  but  a  thousandth  part  of  the  value  of  those 
flintlike  pebbles.  What  a  queer  problem  it  was,  this 
ratio  of  worth  between  a  few  stones  and  the  bright, 
minted  sovereigns. 

"What  time  shall  I  call  to-morrow?"  he  asked, 
standing,  cap  in  hand,  ready  to  take  his  departure. 

"At  eleven.  But  wait  one  moment.  Have  you  no 
friends  to  look  after  you  ?  See  what  trouble  you  may 
get  into.  Why,  the  mere  possession  of  so  much  gold 

by  a  boy  like  you  may " 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself,  Mr.  Isaacstein.  I  will 
be  here  at  eleven.  Good-afternoon." 


DIAMONDS  105 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Transition. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  a  fine,  but 
chilly  March  day  when  Philip  regained  Holborn  with 
fifty  pounds  making  a  lump  in  his  pocket,  and  Isaac- 
stein's  letter  safely  lodged  in  his  coat.  The  mere 
weight  of  the  gold  suggested  an  unpleasant  possibility. 
His  clothes  were  so  worn  that  the  frail  calico  might 
give  way  and  every  golden  coin  rattle  forth  to  the 
pavement. 

So  with  one  of  Mr.  Abingdon's  shillings  he  made 
his  first  purchase,  a  capacious  tobacco  pouch  with  a 
snap  mouth,  for  which  he  paid  ninepence.  Then  he 
adjourned  to  an  aerated  bread  shop  and  ordered  some 
refreshments.  While  the.  waitress  was  bringing  his 
cup  of  tea  and  piece  of  cake  he  contrived  to  slip  all  the 
sovereigns  but  one  into  the  tobacco  pouch. 

He  did  this  with  his  hand  in  the  pocket  itself,  and 
more  than  once  there  was  a  pleasant  clink  as  the  coins 
fell  into  their  novel  receptacle. 

A  man  sitting  near  caught  the  sound,  and  looked  up 
suspiciously.  Philip,  whose  senses  were  very  much  on 
the  alert  to-day,  realized  that  his  action  was  somewhat 
careless.  Without  even  glancing  at  his  neighbor,  he 
took  out  his  remaining  couple  of  shillings  and  the 
three  pennies,  and  affected  to  count  them  with  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  astonishment,  as  if  some  were  missing. 
The  ruse  was  satisfactory.  The  man  gave  him  no 
further  heed,  and  soon  quitted  the  restaurant. 


io6  THE  KING  OF 

Philip  tendered  the  odd  sovereign  in  payment  of  his 
bill.  The  girl  cashier  seemed  to  be  surprised  that  such 
a  ragged  youth  should  own  so  large  a  sum. 

"All  silver,  please,"  said  Philip,  when  she  began  to 
count  his  change. 

He  would  take  no  more  risks  if  he  could  avoid  them. 
Not  a  single  policeman  in  London  would  have  failed 
to  arrest  him  at  that  moment  wrere  his  store  of  gold 
revealed  by  any  chance.  Yet  Philip  was  rich  honestly, 
and  there  were  men  driving  away  from  the  city  at  that 
hour  whose  banking  accounts  were  plethoric  with 
stolen  money.  For  their  carriages  the  policemen 
would  stop  the  traffic.  In  neither  instance  could  the 
guardians  of  the  peace  be  held  blameworthy ;  such  is 
the  importance  of  mere  appearances. 

The  boy,  during  his  short  and  terribly  sharp  tussle 
with  London  life,  had  already  grasped  this  essential 
fact,  and  with  great  skill  and  method  he  set  about  the 
task  of  altering  his  own  shabby  exterior. 

In  a  side  street  leading  out  of  Gray's  Inn  Road,  he 
found  a  secondhand  clothes  shop.  Here  he  purchased 
a  worn,  but  decent,  blue  serge  suit  for  eight  shillings 
six  pence,  a  pair  of  boots  for  five  shillings,  a  cap  for 
ninepence,  a  woolen  shirt  for  two  shillings,  and  a  linen 
collar  for  threepence. 

He  haggled  sufficiently  over  the  bargain  to  suit  the 
needs  of  a  scanty  purse. 

"I've  cut  'em  dahn  low  enough,"  said  the  shop 
keeper,  mournfully.  "Things  isn't  wot  they  was  in  the 
ole  clo'  line,  let  me  tell  yer.  Not  but  what  you  do 
want  a  new  rig-aht." 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  "I've  got  a  job,  and  can't  keep 
it  unless  I  look  decent." 


DIAMONDS  107 

For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  burlesque  the  Cock 
ney  accent,  and  although  he  used  the  simplest  phrase 
ology,  the  man  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"Where  are  yer  workin'?"  he  said. 

"At  Isaacstein's  in  Hatton  Garden."  The  words  had 
not  left  his  lips  ere  he  regretted  them. 

"Wot  is  'e?" 

"A  Jew,"  and  Philip  laughed.  This  quip  atoned  for 
the  error  of  the  admission. 

"Bli-me,  you  won't  get  a  lot  aht  of  'im." 

"No.  It  cost  me  some  trouble  to  get  an  advance, 
I  can  assure  you." 

Philip  rattled  all  his  silver  and  coppers  onto  the 
counter.  He  counted  out  sixteen  shillings  sixpence. 

"Not  much  left,  is  there  ?"  he  said. 

"Well,  look  'ere,"  said  the  man.  "Gimme  fifteen 
bob.  You're  a  sharp  lad.  You'll  myke  yer  w'y  all 
right.  Nex'  time  you  want  some  duds  come  to  me 
an'  I'll  treat  you  fair." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Philip,  considerably 
surprised  by  this  generous  act.  "I  certainly  will  not 
forget  you." 

"You  can  change  in  my  little  back  room  if  you  like. 
That  lot  you've  got  on  ain't  worth  tykin'  'ome." 

"I  am  obliged  for  your  kindness,  but  I  must  be  off 
now.  It  is  late,  and  I  have  a  long  way  to  go." 

"Whereto?     Holloway?" 

"No,  cityward." 

The  clothes  and  boots  were  made  up  in  a  parcel  by 
this  time.  Philip  hurried  away,  glad  to  escape  further 
questioning. 

"Queer  sort  o'  kid,  that,"  mused  the  shopkeeper. 
"My,  but  'e  must  ha'  bin  'ard  up  afore  'e  took  on  wiv' 


io8  THE  KING  OF 

a  Jew.  Wot  did  'e  s'y  'is  nyme  was?  Isaacstein? 
I've  seen  that  somewhere  or  other.  Now  where  was 
it?" 

He  knew  two  hours  later,  for  he,  too,  read  the  even 
ing  paper. 

Philip  sprang  into  a  ''bus  for  the  Bank.  At  the 
Royal  Exchange  he  would  catch  a  green  'bus  for  the 
Mile  End  Road. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  he  reached  the  Bank. 
Thus  far  the  omnibuses  going  east  were  not  crowded. 
Now  the  situation  had  changed. 

The  human  eddy  in  that  throbbing  center  of  life  was 
sending  off  its  swirls  to  all  points  of  the  compass,  and 
the  eastbound  vehicles  were  boarded  by  an  eager  crowd 
almost  before  the  passengers  arriving  at  the  terminus 
could  descend. 

A  poor  woman,  greatly  hampered  by  a  baby,  was 
struggling  with  others  to  obtain  a  seat  in  the  Mile  End 
Road  'bus.  Philip,  coming  late  on  the  scene,  saw  her 
swept  ruthlessly  aside  by  a  number  of  men  and  boys. 
The  conductor  jerked  the  bell-rope  several  times. 
There  was  no  more  room. 

The  woman,  white-faced  and  disappointed,  looked 
around  with  a  woe-begone  expression.  Philip,  who 
would  have  gladly  paid  for  a  cab  to  take  her  to  her 
destination,  dared  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  But  he  said : 

"Keep  close  to  me.  I  will  get  you  a  seat  in  the  next 
'bus." 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  would,"  she  said,  with  a  wan  smile. 
"I  am  so  tired.  I  have  walked  here  from  Shepherd's 
Bush." 

"That's  a  long  way  to  carry  a  baby." 

"What  could  I  do?     People  won't  take  care  of  chil- 


DIAMONDS  109 

dren  without  payment.  I  heard  I  could  get  work  in  a 
laundry  there,  so  I  went  to  look  after  it.  There's 
nothing  to  be  had  down  our  way,  is  there  ?" 

"Things  turn  up  suddenly,"  said  Philip. 

"Not  for  the  poor,  my  lad.  I  fear  you  know  that 
without  my  telling  you.  But  you  are  young,  and  will 
soon  be  a  man." 

Her  wistful  tone  went  to  his  heart. 

"Didn't  you  succeed  at  the  laundry?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes;  I  ought  to  be  thankful.  I  can  earn  nine 
shillings  a  week  there.  I  start  on  Monday." 

"Isn't  your  husband  at  work?" 

"He  is  dead.  Poor  fellow,  he  caught  cold  last 
Christmas,  and  was  buried  in  January.  God  only 
knows  how  I  have  lived  since.  If  it  wasn't  for  the 
kindness  of  neighbors,  baby  and  I  would  have  starved. 
I  can  ill  afford  this  tuppence,  but  I  can't  walk  any 
further." 

"Well,  look  out  now,"  he  said,  cheerily.  "Here's 
our  'bus." 

As  the  vehicle  drew  up  he  caught  the  brass  rail  with 
his  left  hand,  and  warded  off  assailants  with  the  bundle 
under  his  right  arm. 

"Quick,"  he  said  to  the  woman,  as  soon  as  the  peo 
ple  inside  had  descended.  "Jump  in." 

She  essayed  to  do  so,  but  was  rudely  thrust  aside  by 
a  young  man  who  had  paused  on  the  roof  to  light 
a  cigarette.  Philip  sprang  onto  the  step  and  butted 
the  young  gentleman  in  the  stomach  with  his  parcel, 
causing  the  other  to  sit  down  heavily  on  the  stairs. 
The  boy  caught  the  woman's  arm  with  his  disengaged 
hand  and  pulled  her  up.  He  dived  in  after  her. 

".You  young "  roared  the  discomfited  smoker. 


no  THE  KING  OF 

"  'Ere !  Come  orf  of  it,"  said  the  conductor.  "Why 
didn't  ye  git  dahn  before?  D'ye  want  a  lift?" 

Others  hustled  the  protesting  one  out  of  the  way. 

"Confound  the  East  End,  I  say,"  he  growled,  as  he 
crossed  to  the  Mansion  House.  "What  the  deuce 
Lady  Louisa  Morland  wants  to  keep  on  sending  me  to 
that  wretched  mews  for  I  can't  imagine.  Anyway, 
I  can  tell  her  this  time  that  the  place  is  empty,  and  will 
be  pulled  down  next  week." 

And  thus  it  was  that  Philip  collided  with  Messrs. 
Sharpe  &  Smith's  clerk,  detailed  by  the  anxious  Lady 
Morland  to  discover  his  whereabouts.  They  met  and 
bumped  into  each  other  in  the  whirlpool  of  London 
just  as  two  ships  might  crash  together  by  night  in 
mid-Atlantic,  and  draw  apart  with  ruffled  feelings,  or 
scraped  paint,  which  is  the  same  thing,  without  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  each  other's  identity. 

Within  the  omnibus  the  woman  was  volubly  grateful. 
She  had  a  kindly  heart,  and  timidly  essayed  questions 
as  to  Philip's  relatives,  hoping  that  she  might  make 
their  acquaintance. 

"I'll  be  bound,  now,"  she  said,  "that  you  have  a  good 
mother.  You  can  always  tell  what  the  parents  are 
like  when  you  see  the  children." 

"My  mother  was,  indeed,  dear  to  me,"  he  replied 
sadly,  again  driven  out  of  himself  by  the  mournful 
recollections  thus  suddenly  induced,  "but  she  is  dead, 
lost  to  me  forever." 

Some  people  in  the  'bus  ceased  talking.  They  were 
attracted  by  the  strong,  clear  voice  of  this  unkempt  boy, 
whose  diction  and  choice  of  words  were  so  outrage 
ously  opposed  to  his  garments.  Luckily,  the  silence 


DIAMONDS  in 

warned  him,  or  his  new  friend's  sympathy  might  have 
brought  about  an  embarrassing  position. 

"Poor  thing !     And  is  your  father  dead,  too?" 

"Yes.     He  died  long  ago." 

"Where  do  you  live  now?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  staying  in  North  Lon 
don,  but  will  leave  there  soon,  and  I  have  not  settled 
anything  definitely  at  present.  Where  is  the  laundry 
you  spoke  of?  I  will  call  some  day,  if  I  may,  and 
learn  how  you  are  getting  on." 

"I  will  be  so  pleased.  It  is  a  little  place  in  James 
Street — the  only  one  there.  Ask  for  Mrs.  Wrigley." 

"It  is  lucky  you  understand  laundry  work,  or  things 
might  go  hard  with  you." 

She  laughed  pitifully. 

"I  don't !  They  asked  me  if  I  was  a  washer  or  an 
ironer.  I  thought  washing  required  least  experience, 
so  I  said  I  was  a  washer.  I  am  quick  to  learn,  and 
will  watch  the  other  women.  If  they  find  me  out  I 
may  be  discharged." 

"Oh,  cheer  up,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "I  don't  sup 
pose  you'll  find  it  very  hard." 

Her  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"It  is  nc '  the  work  I  dread,  but  the  surroundings. 
I  was  a  school  teacher  before  my  marriage.  My  hus 
band  was  an  electrical  engineer.  We  put  all  our  sav 
ings  into  a  little  business,  and  then — the  end  came." 

"Not  quite  the  end.  I  am  only  a  boy,  but  I've  had 
ups  and  downs  enough  to  know  that  the  beginning  of 
next  week  may  be  a  very  different  affair  to  the  end  of 
this.  Good-by " 

They  were  passing  the  London  Hospital,  and  he 


ii2  THE  KING  OF 

thought  it  prudent  to  alight  at  some  distance  from 
Johnson's  Mews. 

"Well,  God  bless  you,  anyhow,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"  'E's  got  'is  'ead  screwed  on  tight,  that  lad,"  com 
mented  a  man  sitting  next  to  her. 

"Better  than  that,  he  has  a  good  heart,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrigley.  Most  fortunate  Mrs.  Wrigley — to  have  en 
countered  Philip  in  that  hour,  which  she  deemed  the 
blackest  in  her  life. 

He  hastened  through  the  familiar  bustle  of  the  busy 
thoroughfare  with  heightened  expectancy,  it  is  true, 
but  devoid  of  the  least  fear  that  his  meteor  had  been 
discovered.  His  mother  would  take  good  care  of  it. 
Why,  the  mere  chance  remark  of  the  woman  he  had 
befriended  showed  that  her  gentle  spirit  watched  over 
him  wherever  he  went.  Here  was  a  stranger,  a  sad 
toiler  among  the  millions,  who  went  out  of  her  wray 
to  praise  the  goodness  of  one  she  had  never  seen.  He 
laughed  joyously.  Mrs.  Wrigley  should  have  further 
cause  to  bless  his  mother's  memory. 

He  passed  O'Brien's  shop.  He  saw  the  old  man 
seated  behind  the  counter.  Should  he  go  in?  No. 
Better  keep  wholly  to  himself  at  present.  Yet  he  hesi 
tated.  Which  was  the  more  judicious  course — to  re 
main  hidden,  unknown,  or  to  drop  quietly  into  the 
groove  where  he  was  recognized?  With  rare  perspi 
cacity  for  one  so  young,  he  reflected  that  only  five  days 
had  elapsed  since  he  last  saw  the  old  pensioner.  The 
period  bulked  largely  in  Philip's  life;  in  O'Brien's  it 
would  be  as  naught. 

Yielding  to  the  second  thought,  he  entered  the  shop. 

"Glory  be  to  God,  Phil,  but  it's  miself  is  glad  to  see 


DIAMONDS  113 

ye,"  cried  his  old  friend.  "Where  have  ye  bin  to.  at 
all  at  all?  Have  yez  heard  what  the  murtherin'  War 
Office  is  afther  doin'  to  me?  I  haven't  had  a  sowl  to 
sphake  to  about  the  throuble  they've  put  on  me  in  me 
ovvld  age." 

This  was  not  strictly  accurate.  O'Brien  had  pes 
tered  the  whole  neighborhood  with  the  story  of  his 
withheld  pension  and  the  preposterous  claim  made  on 
him  by  some  red-tape  enthusiast  in  Pall  Mall.  But 
his  plaint  effectually  stopped  all  further  reference  to 
Philip's  disappearance.  As  to  the  "bit  o'  shtone,"  that 
was  "naythur  alum  nor  lime,"  he  hadn't  a  word  to  say. 

Philip  borrowed  a  spade,  a  small  sweeping  brush  and 
a  strong  sack  without  evoking  the  slightest  comment 
from  the  pensioner,  who  discoursed  incessantly  on  the 
iniquity  of  the  "Govermint,"  and  whose  farewell  re 
mark  dealt  with  the  attempt  to  rob  him  of  "a  hundred 
gowlden  sov'rins." 

Decidedly  the  boy  was  in  luck's  way.  He  had  se 
cured  some  necessary  implements  without  attracting 
any  attention.  Watching  a  favorable  opportunity,  he 
slipped  unseen  into  the  gloom  of  Johnson's  Mews.  He 
tried  the  door  of  No.  3.  It  was  locked.  He  inserted 
the  key  and  entered.  The  darkness  within  was  that  of 
utter  blindness,  but  he  dumped  his  impedimenta  on  the 
floor  and  locked  the  door  behind  him. 

Then  he  groped  his  doubtful  path  to  the  mantelpiece 
where  he  had  left  a  candle  and  a  box  of  matches.  His 
boots  crunched,  as  he  went,  on  what  he  knew  to  be 
mostly  diamonds,  and  he  stumbled  over  the  mattress 
in  front  of  the  fireplace.  Yes,  the  candle  was  there. 
Soon  he  had  a  light.  The  tiny  gleam  lifted  the  black 
curtain,  and  he  surveyed  his  domain.  A  single  glance 


ii4  THE  KING  OF 

showed  him  that  all  things  remained  exactly  as  he  left 
them  on  Saturday  morning.  The  packet  of  letters 
rested  on  the  broken  chair,  the  old  sack  was  stuffed 
into  the  window,  and  the  rope — that  never-to-be-for 
gotten  rope — dangled  from  the  hook  to  which  he  had 
fastened  it. 

The  sight  brought  a  lump  into  his  throat.  He  sank 
to  his  knees,  pressed  down,  he  felt,  by  some  superior 
power. 

"Mother!"  he  said,  humbly,  "forgive  me,  and  ask 
God  to  forgive  me,  for  what  I  would  have  done  were 
you  not  watching  over  me." 

In  the  spiritual  exaltation  of  the  moment  he  almost 
expected  to  find  that  sweet  face  peering  at  him  be- 
nignantly  from  out  the  dim  background.  But  he  could 
not  see  her,  and  he  rose,  revivified  by  this  spoken  com 
munion  with  her.  He  had  no  shadow  of  doubt  as  to 
her  presence.  God  to  him  was  the  universe,  and  his 
mother  the  unquestionable  means  of  communication 
with  the  Providence  that  governed  his  life.  He  would 
die  rather  than  abandon  that  belief.  Were  it  dispelled 
from  his  mind  he  was  quite  certain  that  his  wealth 
would  vanish  with  it.  It  was  no  haphazard  accident 
which  had  sent  the  diamond-laden  meteor  headlong 
from  the  sky.  He  was  despairing,  dying;  his  mother 
appealed  for  him ;  and,  behold !  the  very  elements  that 
control  the  world  obeyed  a  mighty  behest. 

He  began  to  work  methodically.  In  the  first  place, 
he  lit  a  fire,  for  the  evening  was  chilly.  Then  he  shook 
his  mattress  and  swept  the  floor,  gathering  into  a  heap 
all  the  tiny  particles  with  which  it  was  littered.  These 
he  collected  in  a  piece  of  newspaper,  and  folded  them 
into  a  parcel,  which  again  he  inclosed  in  a  stouter 


DIAMONDS  115 

sheet  of  brown  paper,  finally  tying  the  whole  with  a 
yard  of  string  he  carried  in  his  pocket. 

There  were  hundreds  of  tiny  diamonds  in  that  insig 
nificant  package,  and  not  a  few  the  size  of  small  peas. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  discovered  subsequently  that 
the  net  result  of  his  sweeping  brought  him  in  over 
a  thousand  pounds. 

Having  examined  every  nook  and  crevice  of  the 
apartment  by  the  aid  of  the  candle,  he  satisfied  himself 
that  naught  remained  which  would  indicate  to  the  most 
curious  eye  any  event  out  of  the  common  having  oc 
curred  in  that  humble  dwelling. 

It  was  typical  of  Philip's  implicit  faith  that  he  did 
not  unlock  the  back  door  until  his  interior  task  was 
ended.  He  knew  that  his  meteor  was  untouched. 

There  was  no  wind  without.  The  candle,  feeble  as 
its  rays  were,  illuminated  the  small  yard  sufficiently  to 
reveal  its  debris  of  white  stones  and  darker  lumps  of 
metal.  Beginning  at  the  doorway,  he  swept  vigorously 
but  with  minutest  care,  until  he  had  formed  four  good- 
sized  piles  on  the  flagstones. 

He  could  not  afford  to  differentiate  between  the 
debris  of  the  damaged  pavement  and  the  fragments  of 
the  meteor.  It  was  easy  to  distinguish  the  larger 
pieces  of  broken  glass  from  the  window  inside  the 
house — in  the  yard  he  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  light 
to  select  the  bits  of  shattered  stone.  All  must  go  to 
gether,  to  be  sorted  with  leisured  care  subsequently. 

He  scrutinized  the  external  window  sills,  the  door 
posts,  the  chinks  of  the  small  coal-house  door  at  the 
further  end  of  the  yard,  even  the  rough  surfaces  of 
the  walls,  and  removed  every  speck  of  loose  material. 
More  newspaper  was  requisitioned,  but,  after  utilizing 


u6  THE  KING  OF 

the  twine  on  his  parcel  of  clothing,  he  ran  short  of 
string. 

He  coolly  went  up  the  stairs,  unfastened  the  rope 
with  which  he  had  intended  to  hang  himself  and  loos 
ened  its  stiff  strands.  Soon  he  had  an  abundance  of 
strong  cord,  and  four  bulky  packages  were  added  to 
the  first  small  one. 

They  were  heavy,  too,  weighing  several  pounds  each. 
In  placing  them  side  by  side  close  to  the  wall  beneath 
the  front  window,  he  suddenly  realized  an  unforeseen 
difficulty. 

If  these  shreds  of  matter — the  mere  husk,  as  it  were, 
of  the  meteor — were  so  ponderous,  what  would  be  the 
weight  of  the  meteor  itself?  How  could  he  hope  to 
lift  it  from  the  hole  in  which  it  lay — how  convey  it 
from  Johnson's  Mews  to  a  new  and  safer  habitation? 
He  might  as  well  endeavor  to  move  an  unwilling  ele 
phant. 

The  thought  chilled  him.  For  the  first  time  since 
his  parting  interview  with  Mr.  Abingdon,  Philip  ex 
perienced  a  dread  of  failure.  With  something  of  panic 
in  his  blood,  he  snatched  the  candle  and  ran  hastily  into 
the  yard.  He  knelt  and  held  the  light  low  in  the 
excavation.  Then  he  cried  aloud : 

"What !     Am  I  so  ready  to  lose  faith  in  mother  ?" 

For  the  huge  metallic  mass — so  big  that  it  would 
not  enter  the  bore  of  the  largest  cannon  known  to  mod 
ern  gunnery — was  split  asunder  in  all  directions.  Its 
fissures  gaped  widely  as  if  to  mock  at  him.  The  rain 
and  steam  had  done  their  work  well.  It  was  even 
possible  that  he  would  not  need  the  spade,  but  would 
be  able  to  pick  out  each  separate  chunk  with  his  hand. 

Instantly  he  put  the  thought  into  execution,  and  sue- 


DIAMONDS  117 

ceeded  in  lifting  several  pieces  to  the  yard  level.  He 
noted  that  they  were  gorged  with  the  dull  white  peb 
bles,  some  being  the  size  of  pigeon's  eggs.  He  could 
not  help  comparing  them  in  his  mind's  eye  with  the  col 
lection  now  lodged  in  Isaacstein's  safe.  If  those  were 
worth  fifty  thousand  pounds,  these  must  be  of  fabulous 
value. 

Any  other  person  in  the  wide  world  might  have 
been  excused  if  he  pinched  himself,  or  winked  furi 
ously,  or  took  out  the  gold-filled  tobacco  pouch  for 
careful  inspection,  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not 
dreaming.  Not  so,  Philip.  The  only  dominant  feel 
ing  in  his  brain  was  one  of  annoyance  that  he  should 
have  doubted,  for  one  single  instant,  that  means  would 
be  given  him  to  secure  absolute  and  undisputed  control 
of  his  treasure. 

But  there  remained  the  problem  of  weight.  His 
original  idea  was  to  wrap  the  actual  body  of  the 
meteor  in  the  stout  sack  he  obtained  from  O'Brien,  and 
then  inclose  all  his  valuables  in  a  tin  trunk  which  he 
would  purchase  next  morning.  Any  ordinary  trunk 
would  certainly  be  spacious  enough,  but  its  phenomenal 
weight  would  unquestionably  evoke  more  comment 
than  he  desired,  and  it  would  need  two  strong  men  to 
lift  it. 

This  portion  of  his  plan  needed  to  be  entirely  re 
modeled,  and  he  was  now  more  than  ever  thankful 
that  the  Jew's  fifty  pounds,  save  one  expended,  reposed 
in  his  pocket.  With  money,  all  things,  or  nearly  all 
things,  were  possible. 

Owing  to  the  cramped  space  in  which  the  meteor 
lay  it  was  no  small  task  to  bring  it  to  the  surface  in 
sections.  But  he  persevered.  By  strenuous  endeavor 


n8  THE  KING  OF 

he  accumulated  an  astonishing  pile  of  iron  ore  studded 
with  diamonds,  looking  not  unlike  almonds  in  a  brown 
cake,  and  the  guttering  candle  held  low  down  failed  to 
reveal  anything  else  in  the  hole.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  debris  at  the  bottom,  and  the  depth  was  now 
over  four  feet.  To  reach  to  its  full  extent  he  was  com 
pelled  to  jam  his  head  and  shoulders  into  the  excava 
tion  and  feel  blindly  with  one  hand,  so  he  rightly  con 
cluded  that  a  final  examination  might  be  left  until 
daylight. 

By  this  time  he  was  hot  and  covered  with  dirt.  He 
stripped,  washed  himself  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
changed  into  his  new  clothes. 

He  did  not  possess  a  looking-glass,  but  he  felt  sure 
that  he  presented  a  remarkably  different  appearance 
when  attired  in  a  neat  serge  suit,  a  clean  shirt  and 
reputable  boots.  His  first  impulse  was  to  thrust  his 
discarded  garments  into  the  fire,  but  sentiment  pre 
vailed,  and  he  folded  them  into  a  parcel. 

Then  he  extinguished  his  candle  and  went  out.  To 
his  exceeding  surprise  he  discovered  that  it  was  nearly 
nine  o'clock — time  had  indeed  flown. 

The  shops  in  the  Mile  End  Road  open  early  and 
close  late.  He  entered  a  restaurant  where  he  was  un 
known,  passing,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  the  coffee  stall 
of  his  kindly  helper  of  those  former  days  now  so  remote 
in  his  crowded  memories.  After  eating  a  hearty  meal, 
for  which  he  was  thoroughly  prepared,  he  tendered  a 
sovereign  in  payment. 

The  proprietor  barely  glanced  at  him.  Philip  was 
now  well  dressed,  according  to  local  ideas,  and  his 
strong,  erect  figure,  his  resolute  face,  added  two  or 
three  years  to  his  age  when  contrasted  with  the  puny 


DIAMONDS  119 

standard  of  fifteen  as  set  by  the  poverty-stricken  East 
End. 

He  had  forgotten  to  buy  a  necktie  and  a  new  pair  of 
stockings.  These  omissions  he  now  rectified,  and  he 
also  purchased  a  warm,  dark-gray  traveling  rug,  sev 
eral  yards  of  drugget,  a  ball  of  twine  and  a  pair  of 
scissors.  A  couple  of  stout  but  worn  leather  port 
manteaux  caught  his  eye. 

"Those  are  cheap,"  said  the  salesman,  quickly, 
"only  fifteen  shillings  each." 

"I'm  not  sure  I  can  afford  so  much,"  said  Philip, 
hesitatingly,  for  the  rug  alone  cost  one  pound  six 
shillings. 

"They're  a  rare  bargain — real  leather — they  were 
never  made  under  three  pounds  each." 

"Oh,  very  well.     I  will  take  them." 

He  produced  three  pounds,  got  his  change,  and 
walked  away  with  his  goods  without  causing  any  won 
derment.  The  shopman  was  only  too  glad  to  have 
such  a  customer  at  that  late  hour. 

Philip  now  knew  that  he  was  fairly  safe,  but  he  de 
cided  that  a  billy-cock  hat  gave  him  a  more  mature 
appearance  than  a  cap.  This  alteration  being  effected, 
he  hurried  off  to  Johnson's  Mews  and  re-entered  his 
domicile  without  incident  worthy  of  note. 

Very  quickly,  with  the  help  of  drugget,  scissors  and 
twine,  the  two  small  portmanteaux  were  packed  with 
pieces  of  the  meteor,  and  the  paper-covered  parcels  al 
ready  prepared.  When  each  bag  weighed  about  forty 
pounds  he  stuffed  the  remaining  space  with  rolled-up 
newspapers,  closed  and  locked  them.  He  estimated 
that  three  larger  leather  bags — these  being  less  noisy 
than  tin — would  hold  the  remainder  of  the  meteor. 


120  THE  KING  OF 

As  the  next  morning  would  find  him  occupation 
enough,  he  decided  to  do  as  much  as  possible  that  night. 
Three  times  he  sallied  forth  and  returned  with  a  good- 
sized  valise.  He  paid  prices  varying  from  two  pounds 
ten  shillings  to  three  pounds  fifteen  shillings,  and  al 
ways  bought  secondhand  goods. 

He  had  locked  and  strapped  the  fourth  of  his  goodly 
array  of  traveling  bags  when  he  fancied  he  heard  a 
footstep  in  the  mews.  Such  an  occurrence  would  have 
troubled  him  not  a  jot  a  week  ago.  To-night  it  was 
extremely  disconcerting. 

Notwithstanding  the  weight  of  the  packed  port 
manteaux,  especially  the  larger  one,  he  lifted  each  bod 
ily  in  his  arms  and  ran  with  it  into  the  tiny  scullery. 
On  the  front  window  there  was  no  blind,  only  a  small, 
much-worn  curtain  covering  the  lower  panes,  and  he 
did  not  want  any  stray  loafer  to  gaze  in  at  him  and 
discover  a  large  quantity  of  luggage  in  such  a  dis 
reputable  hovel. 

When  the  fourth  bag  was  disposed  of  in  the  dark 
recess  of  the  scullery  he  paused  for  an  instant  to  listen. 
There  was  not  a  sound.  Through  the  window  he  could 
dimly  discern  the  roof  of  the  deserted  stables  opposite. 

He  bent  again  to  the  task  of  packing  the  fifth  port 
manteau,  and  was  placing  in  it  the  last  parcel  of  ore 
and  diamonds  when  some  of  the  heavy  contents  fell 
through  one  end  where  the  drugget  wrapping  had 
been  hastily  folded. 

Shaking  the  package  on  the  floor  as  a  grocer  beats 
down  the  contents  of  a  sugar  bag,  he  picked  up  the 
fallen  specimens  and  put  them  in,  one  by  one.  A  large 
lump  of  ore  had  fallen  apart  when  it  dropped.  Inside 


DIAMONDS  121 

there  was  a  huge  kernel,  a  rough  diamond  quite  as 
large  as  a  hen's  egg. 

Philip  smiled  as  he  recalled  his  boast  to  Isaacstein. 
He  examined  the  stone  critically,  and  realized  that  if 
it  were  flawless  it  must  be  one  of  the  marvels  of  crea 
tion.  Without  experiencing  any  positive  motive  he 
slipped  this  unique  specimen  into  his  pocket,  and  went 
on  with  the  reconstruction  of  the  damaged  parcel. 

At  last  he  finished.  The  portmanteau  was  lying 
open  on  the  floor,  when  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  have  avoided  the  flurry  and  trouble  of 
carrying  these  heavy  articles  into  the  scullery  if  he  had 
nailed  a  couple  of  yards  of  his  drugget  across  the 
window. 

It  was  not  too  late  even  now  to  rectify  this  defect. 
He  glanced  at  the  window  to  ascertain  how  much  ma 
terial  he  should  cut  off,  and  saw  a  face — an  evil,  brutal, 
suspicious  face — peering  at  him  over  the  top  of  the 
curtain. 


122  THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A  Decisive  Battle. 

It  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  Philip  was  startled  by 
the  sight.  No  braver  or  more  resolute  boy  breathed; 
but  the  silence,  the  mystery — the  gloomy  aloofness  of 
Johnson's  Mews — lent  a  sinister  aspect  to  an  appari 
tion  formidable  enough  under  any  circumstances,  but 
absolutely  threatening  and  full  of  danger  to  one  situ 
ated  as  he  at  that  moment. 

He  never  remembered  seeing  the  man  before.  Not 
that  this  repellent  physiognomy  was  of  a  type  to  be 
soon  forgotten.  A  bullet  head  with  prominent,  blood 
shot  eyes,  a  strong,  cruel  mouth,  a  huge  nose  badly 
broken — a  certain  strength  of  character  in  features  de 
based  by  drink  and  criminality — these  were  the  tokens 
writ  legibly  on  the  countenance  glaring  intently  at  the 
boy  from  without. 

The  two  gazed  at  each  other  for  an  appreciable  time. 
The  man's  face  wandered  from  Philip's  face  to  his 
costume,  and  then  rested  on  the  open  portmanteau  at 
the  boy's  feet.  There  was  in  his  expression  an  air  of 
astonishment — a  certain  gloating  bewilderment — as  of 
one  who  had  stumbled  unawares  upon  some  object  of 
such  potential  value  that  the  finder  could  hardly  believe 
it  to  be  true.  He  was  thinking,  wondering,  debating 
with  himself.  The  goggle  eyes  seemed  to  see  more 
than  the  brain  was  inclined  to  credit. 

Philip,  despite  his  alarm,  felt  that  the  right  course 
was  to  resent  this  impertinent  prying  into  his  affairs. 


DIAMONDS  123 

"Hello,  you  !"  he  shouted.     "What  do  you  want  ?" 

The  man  grinned.  He  seemed  to  be  about  to  an 
swer  when  he  suddenly  turned  his  head  and  looked 
down  the  yard  toward  the  entry. 

Instantly  he  swung  round  and  vanished  noiselessly, 
with  the  silent  alertness  of  a  cat,  for  the  boy  heard  no 
sound.  He  simply  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  and 
Philip,  who  knew  every  inch  of  the  ground,  realized 
that  his  most  unpleasant-visaged  spy  had  not  only  dived 
into  the  further  obscurity  of  the  mews — which  formed 
a  cul-de-sac — but  also  was  either  in  his  stocking  feet 
or  wore  something  over  his  boots  to  deaden  any  possi 
ble  clatter  on  the  paving  stones. 

Here  was  a  nice  thing — his  habitat  discovered  by 
some  tramp  or  criminal  skulking  in  the  untenanted 
building  marked  out  for  the  housebreakers  within  a 
few  days.  It  was  too  bad.  He  was  sorely  annoyed 
that  he  had  not  thought  sooner  of  the  potentialities  of 
the  window  when  the  interior  of  the  house  was  illu 
mined  by  a  candle  and  a  ruddy  fire.  How  long  had 
the  man  stood  there  watching  him  ?  He  had  certainly 
seen  some  portion  of  the  contents  of  the  last  port 
manteau.  Had  he  also  witnessed  the  removal  of  the 
others  to  the  pantry? 

Philip's  experience  as  a  newspaper  vender  told  him 
that  all  London  was  now  familiar  with  his  own  per 
sonal  appearance,  as  well  as  with  the  semblance  and 
value  of  his  meteoric  diamonds.  The  white  stones,  the 
clumps  of  iron  ore,  had  been  described  minutely  by 
clever  journalists,  who  supplemented  Isaacstein's  clear 
statement  by  facts  gleaned  from  encyclopedias  and  in 
terviews  with  geologists. 

Most  probably  this  man  had  read  long  articles  about 


124  THE  KING  OF 

him,  for  the  story  was  such  as  to  bring-  watery  curses 
to  the  lips  of  every  penniless  vagrant  in  the  kingdom. 
Indeed,  the  careful  scrutiny  bestowed  on  his  face  and 
clothes  bore  out  this  suspicion.  Had  he  not  changed 
his  garments  the  stranger  would  have  known  his  iden 
tity  beyond  all  question.  As  it  was,  the  man  was  puz 
zled,  and  disturbed  at  the  very  moment  he  was  about 
to  say  something.  What  had  happened  to  cause  him 
to  run  away?  What  had  he  seen  or  heard?  Above 
all,  how  much  did  he  know  of  Philip  and  his  affairs  ? 

Well,  the  door  was  locked,  and  it  would  be  folly  to 
go  out  again  that  night.  The  house  was  absolutely 
unapproachable  save  by  the  front.  Philip  resolved  to 
remain  awake  until  daybreak.  O'Brien's  spade  stood 
against  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  formidable  weapon,  and 
he  would  not  hesitate  to  use  it  if  forcible  entry  was 
attempted.  He  must  sit  quietly  in  the  dark,  listening 
for  each  sound,  and  threatening  boldly  when  he  heard 
anyone  endeavoring  to  open  door  or  window. 

He  sighed,  for  he  was  very  tired,  but  the  vigil  was 
imperative. 

He  dropped  the  drugget  and  scissors  and  bent  again 
over  the  portmanteau.  The  packing  operations  might 
as  well  be  finished  now,  and,  indeed,  when  the  light  was 
extinguished,  it  would  be  better  to  keep  away  from  the 
window,  through  which  a  sudden  thrust  with  an  im 
plement  might  do  him  an  injury. 

He  took  his  discarded  clothes  and  arranged  them  on 
top  of  the  last  parcels  of  ore  and  diamonds.  Then  he 
reached  out  for  the  small  bundle  of  documents  resting 
on  the  chair  behind  him,  intending  to  place  them  in  a 
little  pocket  in  the  flap  which  already  covered  one-half 
of  the  bag. 


DIAMONDS  125 

At  that  instant  he  again  heard  footsteps.  Of  course, 
a  very  few  seconds  had  elapsed  since  he  first  caught 
sight  of  the  living  specter  without.  The  ideas  recorded 
at  such  length  whirled  through  his  active  brain  with 
lightning  speed,  just  as  the  knowledge  now  came  that 
the  footsteps  proceeded  from  the  entrance  to  the  mews 
and  not  from  its  extremity,  while  their  firm  regularity 
betokened  the  advent  of  some  person  who  had  no 
special  reason  to  conceal  his  movements. 

The  boy  listened  breathlessly.  The  oncomer  reached 
his  door,  passed  it,  stopped  opposite  the  window,  and 
then  another  face  peered  over  the  curtain. 

This  time  it  was  a  policeman. 

For  an  instant  their  eyes  met  in  mutual  astonish 
ment.  Then  the  policeman  came  so  close  that  his  hel 
met  rested  against  a  pane  of  glass.  He  grinned  affa 
bly,  and  cried : 

"Here !     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Intuitively  grasping  the  essential  fact  that  his  best 
policy  was  one  of  ready  acquiescence,  Philip  sprang 
toward  the  door  and  unlocked  it.  He  stood  on  the 
step.  The  constable  approached. 

"I  hope  I  didn't  startle  you,"  he  began,  "but  I  just 
looked  in  on  the  off  chance " 

"I  am  very  glad  indeed,  to  see  you,"  interrupted 
the  boy.  "I  am  leaving  here  to-morrow.  Just  now, 
while  I  was  packing  some  of  my  belongings,  a  very 
nasty-looking  man  came  and  peeped  in  at  me  in  the 
same  way  as  you  did." 

He  backed  into  the  house.  The  policeman  half  fol 
lowed  him,  his  quick  glance  noting  the  open  portman 
teau  and  its  array  of  old  clothes. 


126  THE  KING  OF 

"Just  now?"  he  questioned.  "Do  you  mean  some 
time  since?" 

"No,  no.     Not  half  a  minute — a  few  seconds  ago." 

"But  where  can  he  be  ?  He  hasn't  left  the  mews,  or  I 
must  have  seen  him.  I  crossed  the  road,  and  no 
one  came  out  in  so  short  a  time." 

"Well,  he  is  somewhere  in  the  place — he  had  a  horrid 
appearance — a  man  with  a  broken  nose.  He  made  me 
jump,  I  can  assure  you." 

"A  man  with  a  broken  nose !  By  Jove,  I'm  looking 
for  a  party  of  that  description.  A  rank  wrong  'un. 
Robbery  with  violence  and  a  few  other  little  things. 
What  sort  of  man  was  he?  You  saw  his  face  only, 
I  suppose?" 

The  constable  stepped  back  into  the  paved  court.  A 
rapid  twist  of  his  hand  sent  a  vivid  beam  of  light 
dancing  over  ruined  tenements,  disheveled  doorways 
and  shattered  windows. 

"A  tall  man,"  said  Philip,  "taller  than  you,  for  I 
could  see  his  chin  over  the  string  of  the  curtain.  He 
had  a  big  face,  with  eyes  that  stuck  out  boldly " 

"By  the  Lord,  it's  Jocky  right  enough !"  cried  the 
constable.  "Now,  where  can  he  have  got  to?  He's 
an  ugly  customer  to  tackle  single-handed,"  he  added, 
beneath  his  breath. 

"Won't  you  wait  a  bit,  until  I  get  some  help?"  said 
Philip,  anxiously. 

The  man  appeared  to  debate  the  point.  The  nearest 
comrade  was  an  acting  sergeant,  newly  promoted.  If 
he  were  summoned,  the  kudos  of  a  smart  capture  would 
be  his  by  right  of  seniority. 

"No,"  announced  the  constable,  stubbornly.  "If  he 
is  here,  I  will  handle  him  myself." 


DIAMONDS  127 

Again  his  lamp  swept  the  small  area  of  the  mews 
and  revealed  no  living  object.  He  quickly  unfastened 
his  belt,  took  off  his  greatcoat,  and  readjusted  belt  and 
lamp  again. 

"Now  I'm  ready  for  him,"  he  grinned.  "Put  my 
coat  inside,  boy,  and  stand  at  the  door  yourself  with 
the  candle  in  your  hand.  If  you  see  anything,  yell  out 
to  me." 

Philip  obeyed.  These  preparations  for  a  deadly 
struggle  appealed  to  his  very  soul,  for  your  healthy- 
minded  boy  of  fifteen  has  generally  ceased  to  be  a  high 
wayman  or  a  pirate  in  imagination,  and  aims  rather  at 
planting  the  Union  Jack  on  a  glacis  bristling  with 
hostile  cannon. 

The  policeman,  feeling  for  the  loose  strap  of  his 
truncheon,  commenced  a  careful  survey  of  the  mews. 
He  had  not  gone  five  yards  when  there  was  a  loud 
crash  of  broken  glass.  The  building  at  the  other  end 
of  the  yard  possessed  a  couple  of  windows  facing  into 
another  inclosure  at  the  back.  Obviously,  the  broken- 
nosed  "Jocky,"  unseen  himself,  had  observed  the  con 
stable's  movements. 

Realizing  that  discovery  was  imminent,  he  was  ef 
fecting  a  strategic  movement  to  the  rear. 

The  policeman  instantly  abandoned  his  cautious  tac 
tics.  He  ran  toward  the  door  of  the -house  whence 
the  sound  came.  It  resisted  somewhat,  but  yielded  to 
his  shoulder.  He  disappeared  inside.  Philip,  after 
closing  his  own  door,  also  ran  to  the  new  center  of 
interest,  shielding  the  candle  with  one  hand  lest  it 
should  blow  out. 

Quick  as  he  was,  he  missed  the  first  phase  of  a 
Homeric  combat.  The  violent  "Jocky,"  foiled  by  an 


128  THE  KING  OF 

unnoticed  iron  bar  in  his  attempt  to  escape,  turned  like 
a  madman  on  the  policeman.  There  was  no  sort  of 
parley  between  them.  Cursing  the  luck  that  had  re 
vealed  his  hiding  place,  the  man,  an  ex-convict,  with 
the  frame  of  a  giant,  sprang  at  his  pursuer  suddenly 
from  an  inner  room. 

The  policeman  had  a  second's  warning.  It  was 
something,  but  not  enough  to  give  him  an  advantage. 
He  got  his  truncheon  out,  but  simultaneously  his  as 
sailant  was  on  him  with  the  ferocity  of  a  catamount. 
They  closed  in  bone-breaking  endeavor,  and  before 
they  were  locked  together  for  ten  fearful  seconds  the 
officer  of  the  law  bitterly  regretted  the  professional 
pride  which  sent  him  single-handed  into  this  unequal 
strife. 

For  he  was  physically  outclassed,  and  he  knew  it, 
and  there  is  no  more  unnerving  knowledge  can  come  to 
a  man  in  such  a  supreme  moment.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  a  brave  man,  and  he  fought  with  all  the  resolu 
tion  that  is  born  of  the  consciousness  of  justice  and 
moral  right.  But  Providence  is  on  the  side  of  big  bat 
talions,  and  "Jocky"  was  taller,  heavier,  very  much 
more  active.  Moreover,  liberty  is  as  potent  an  in 
centive  as  law  any  day,  and  law  was  being  steadily 
throttled  when  the  pale  gleam  of  Philip's  candle  lit  up 
the  confines  of  the  ruinous  hovel  about  which  the  two 
men  stamped  and  lurched  and  wrestled. 

At  the  precise  moment  of  the  boy's  entrance  the  po 
liceman's  knees  yielded  and  he  fell,  with  his  remorse 
less  antagonist  uppermost.  Philip,  gazing  at  them 
wide-eyed,  almost  fell  too,  for  his  left  foot  rolled  on 
the  constable's  staff. 

Being  fashioned  of  the  stuff  which  founds  empires — 


DIAMONDS  129 

on  the  principle  that  instant  action  is  worth  a  century 
of  diplomacy — he  picked  up  the  truncheon  and  brought 
it  down  on  "Jocky's"  hard  skull  with  such  emphasis 
that  the  convict  emitted  a  queer  sort  of  cough,  and  col 
lapsed  limply  on  top  of  his  conquered  adversary. 

Then  the  boy  was  horrified.  The  two  lay  so  still 
that  he  imagined  both  were  dead.  It  is  one  thing  to 
help  the  law,  but  quite  another  to  kill  a  man.  He  did 
not  want  to  be  a  murderer  as  well  as  a  millionaire,  not 
knowing  then  the  qualities  which  go  to  form  these  va 
rieties  of  the  genus  homo  are  strangely  alike. 

He  gazed  at  them  as  in  a  trance,  but  relief  came 
when  he  heard  them  breathing  stertorously.  At  last, 
after  a  pause  that  apparently  endured  unnumbered 
minutes,  the  constable  weakly  rolled  himself  free  from 
the  bulky  form  of  his  would-be  slayer,  and  sat  up. 

He  inflated  his  lungs  vigorously.  Then  he  man 
aged  to  gasp : 

"Thank  you !     You've  saved  my  life  !" 

He  pressed  his  ribs  with  both  hands  and  gingerly  felt 
his  throat.  He  stood  up.  His  lamp  was  still  alight, 
but  a  quantity  of  oil  had  run  over  his  tunic  and 
trousers. 

"By  Jove,  boy,  you  are  a  brick,"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  under  control  again. 

Philip  answered  not  a  word ;  his  eyes  were  glued  on 
the  prostrate  form  of  Jocky.  The  policeman  under 
stood  hig  fear,  and  laughed. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  him.  He'll  do  a  stretch  all 
right.  I  would  have  given  him  a  harder  one  than  that 
it  i  got  a  swing  at  him." 

His  words  were  quickly  justified.  The  fallen  man 
growled  unintelligibly  and  moved.  With  a  rapidity 


i3o  TOE  KING  OF 

born  of  much  practice  the  officer  handcuffed  him. 
There  must  have  been  some  sense  of  familiarity  in  the 
touch  of  the  steel  bracelets,  for  the  recipient  of  this 
delicate  attention  stirred  uneasily. 

"You  knocked  him  silly,"  grinned  the  policeman, 
"but  he  will  get  his  wits  back  in  a  minute  or  two. 
Can  you  bring  him  a  drink  of  water?  It  won't  do  me 
any  harm,  either." 

Philip  hurried  away  to  comply  with  this  request. 
His  mind  was  relieved  now,  and  with  the  backward 
swing  of  the  mental  pendulum  came  the  reflection  that 
the  least  said  of  his  connection  with  the  case  the  better. 

He  filled  a  small  tin  at  the  scullery  tap  and  ran  with 
it  to  the  scene  of  the  capture.  The  constable  was 
gently  shaking  his  prize  and  addressing  him  by  name. 

"Jocky !  Jocky  Mason !  Pull  yourself  together. 
This  way  for  the  Old  Bailey !" 

"If  you  please,"  said  Philip,  "I  would  be  very  greatly 
obliged  were  my  name  not  mentioned  at  all  with  refer 
ence  to  this  affair." 

The  policeman,  whose  senses  were  normal  again,  was 
instantly  impressed  by  the  boy's  grand  manner.  His 
accent  was  that  of  the  men  of  the  University  Mission. 
And  how  many  boys  of  his  age  would  have  struck  so 
straight  and  truly  at  a  critical  moment? 

"Well,  don't  you  see,  that  will  be  rather  difficult,"' 
was  the  answer.  "It  was  you  who  told  me  where  h* 
was,  and  the  man  himself  knows  that  without  some 
body's  help  I  could  not  have  arrested  him.  There  i« 
no  need  to  mince  matters.  I  have  you  to  thank  for  no? 
being  laid  here  stiff." 

Philip  said  no  more.     To  press  his  request  implied 


DIAMONDS  131 

a  powerful  motive.     The  stars  in  their  courses  must 
have  conspired  that  day  to  supply  him  with  excitement. 

Mason  eagerly  gulped  the  water  held  to  his  lips. 
Then  he  tried  to  raise  his  right  hand  to  his  head.  Ah ! 
He  understood.  A  flood  of  oaths  began  to  meander 
thickly  from  his  mouth. 

"That's  better,"  said  the  constable,  encouragingly. 
"Now,  up  you  get!  It's  no  use,  Jocky.  I  won't  let 
you  kick  me.  You  must  either  go  quietly  or  I  will 
drag  you  to  the  street  over  the  stones,  and  that  will 
hurt." 

The  man  glared  dully  at  his  captor.  With  the 
apathy  of  his  class  he  knew  when  he  was  beaten,  and 
became  submissive  in  demeanor.  Philip,  holding  his 
candle  aloft,  marveled  at  his  own  temerity  in  hitting 
this  giant,  oxlike  in  size  and  strength. 

Mason  wobbled  his  head  and  craned  his  neck  awk 
wardly. 

"Oo  gev  me  that  crack  on  the  nut?"  he  asked. 

"The  roof  dropped,"  was  the  jocular  reply. 

"Not  it.  I  'ad  yer  dahn,  Sailor.  I  was  on  yer  afore 
ye  could  use  yer  stick.  Ye  was  fairly  bested  until 
somebody  ahted  me  wiv  a  welt  on  the  skylight." 

"Never  mind,  Jocky.  It'll  hurt  you  to  think  just 
now.  Come  on." 

But  the  ex-convict  became  sensible  of  the  unwonted 
light  in  the  deserted  house,  and  slowly  turned  his  head 
until  his  glance  rested  on  Philip. 

"Why!"  he  roared,  with  an  imprecation,  "that's  the 
bloomin'  kid  'oo  found  the  di-monds.  I  seed  'im 
a-countin'  of  'em.  White  stones,  the  paper  said,  an' 
bits  of  iron,  too.  A  trunk  full  of  'em.  'E  'as  one  in 
'is  pocket  as  big  as  an  egg." 


132  THE  KING  OF 

The  policeman  laughed.  So  did  Philip,  shrilly,  with 
ready  acceptance  of  the  cue. 

"Come  along,  Jocky,  you're  wool-gathering.  I'll  get 
you  a  pint  of  coffee  at  the  station  just  to  show  there's 
no  malice,"  said  the  constable. 

"The  water  was  too  strong  for  him,"  put  in  Philip. 

The  ex-convict  began  to  protest,  but  he  wasted 
words  in  swearing.  The  "Sailor"  grasped  him  by  the 
arm  and  marched  him  down  the  yard,  saying  over  his 
shoulder : 

"Pull  that  door  to.  I'll  come  back  for  my  coat  in 
half  an  hour." 

Philip  followed,  but  in  a  sea  of  perplexity.  He 
heard  Mason's  frantic  expostulations  to  the  policeman 
— what  was  an  extra  stripe  to  the  loss  of  untold  wealth 
— that  youngster  was  richer  than  Rothschild,  the  pa 
pers  said — the  small  lot  he  showed  in  the  police  court 
were  worth  fifty  thousand  pounds — and  he  had  tons 
more. 

It  was  all  of  no  avail.  Certainly  the  constable  had 
never  heard  such  queer  reasons  advanced  for  stopping 
an  arrest,  but  Mason  was  obviously  dazed  for  the  time 
— maundering  about  the  story  which  everybody  talked 
of.  He  would  change  his  tune  when  he  learned  to 
whom  he  was  indebted  for  his  capture. 

The  boy  walked  behind  them  mechanically,  shading 
the  candle  with  his  hand.  He  was  so  absorbed  with  his 
tumultuous  thoughts  that  the  first  indication  he  re 
ceived  of  anything  bizarre  in  his  appearance  was  the 
giggling  of  a  girl  who  saw  him  standing  in  the  arch 
of  the  mews  carefully  shielding  the  flickering  wick. 

He  blew  it  out.  A  clock  in  the  small  jeweler's  shop 
1>j>posite  showed  the  time — ten  minutes  past  eleven.  In 


DIAMONDS  133 

that  part  of  London,  a  busy  hive  of  men  and  women  of 
the  working  class,  he  had  no  chance  of  removing  his 
belongings  before  the  policeman  returned. 

What  would  happen  if  the  friendly  constable  believed 
Jocky  Mason's  excited  statements?  True,  Philip  had 
no  reason  to  fear  the  law.  But  with  exposure  might 
come  other  troubles.  Would  anyone  advance  a  claim 
to  his  meteor?  Mr.  Abingdon  hinted  at  such  a  thing. 
He  paid  no  rent  for  his  house ;  he  might  be  turned  out 
instantly — refused  permission  to  remove  anything  ex 
cept  his  few  unsalable  household  goods. 

Assuredly  he  was  in  an  awkward  predicament.  Of 
course,  there  was  a  chance  that  the  policeman  would 
continue  to  laugh  at  the  convict's  folly.  If  he  did 
not,  there  would  certainly  be  complications.  Could  he 
avoid  them  by  any  means?  Where  was  there  a  safe 
hiding  place  for  his  diamonds  until  next  day?  Would 
mother  inspire  him  again  as  she  had  not  failed  to  do 
during  so  many  strange  events?  Would  her  spirit 
guide  his  footsteps  across  this  new  quicksand  on  whose 
verge  he  hesitated? 

A  few  doors  to  the  left  was  O'Brien's  shop.  The 
old  man  crept  into  sight,  staggering  under  the  weight 
of  a  shutter.  Good  gracious !  Why  had  he  not 
thought  of  this  ally  sooner?  Some  precious  minutes 
were  wasted  already. 

"Arrah,  Phil,  phwat  in  the  worruld " 

"Wait  just  the  least  bit,  Mr.  O'Brien.  I  have  some 
portmanteaux  that  I  want  to  store  for  the  night.  Do 
let  me  put  them  at  the  back  of  your  shop.  My  place 
is  not  very  safe,  you  know." 

"Sure,  boy,  that's  a  shmall  thing  to  ax.  Bring  'em, 
an'  welcome." 


134  THE  KING  OF 

With  the  speed  of  a  deer  Philip  dived  into  the  mews. 
He  carried  the  two  lesser  bags  without  extraordinary 
difficulty,  and  deposited  them  behind  O'Brien's  coun 
ter.  The  third  was  almost  too  much  for  him,  as  the 
weight  was  all  in  one  hand.  But  he  got  it  there, 
breathless  with  the  exertion. 

He  had  to  open  the  fourth  and  tear  out  the  stuffing 
of  paper.     When  filled  with  the  packages  taken  from 
the  fifth  it  was  beyond  his  power  to  lift  it.     So  he 
dragged  it  bodily  along  the  mews  and  into  the  shop. 
A  passer-by  offered  to  help  him. 
"No,  thanks,"  he  managed  to  say,  though  the  effort 
to  speak  calmly  took  away  his  remaining  breath.     "I 
am  only  taking  it  to  the  shop  there." 

The  man  glanced  at  the  shop — it  was  a  marine  store 
dealer's — a  place  where  lead  and  iron  and  brass  found 
ready  sale.  He  passed  on. 

"Be  the  forchun  uv  war,  Phil,  where  did  ye  get  the 
iligant  leather  thrunks,  an'  phwat's  in  them  ?"  inquired 
the  astonished  pensioner. 

The  boy  bravely  called  a  smile  to  his  aid.  "I  have 
a  big  story  to  tell  you  one  of  these  days,  Mr.  O'Brien, 
but  I  have  no  time  to-night.  These  things  will  not  be 
in  your  way  until  the  morning?" 

"The  divil  a  bit.  If  things  go  on  as  they  are,  there'll 
soon  be  room  enough  in  the  poor  ould  shop.  To  think, 
afther  all  these  years,  that  a  murtherin'  thief  in  the 
War  Office- 
Philip  was  safe.  He  rapidly  helped  his  friend  to 
put  up  the  shutters,  and  rushed  back  to  No.  3.  Even 
yet  he  was  not  quite  prepared  for  eventualities.  He 
ran  upstairs  and  gathered  a  few  articles  belonging  to 


DIAMONDS  135 

his  mother,  articles  he  never  endeavored  to  sell  even 
when  pinched  by  hunger. 

The  last  dress  she  wore,  her  boots,  a  hat,  an  album 
with  photographs,  some  toilet  accessories  from  the  tiny 
dressing  table,  the  coverlet  of  the  bed  on  which  she 
died — these  and  kindred  mementoes  made  a  very 
credible  bulk  in  the  denuded  portmanteau. 

He  gave  one  glance  at  the  hole  in  the  back  yard  as 
he  went  to  the  coal  house  for  a  fresh  supply  of  coal. 
That  must  remain.  It  probably  would  not  be  seen. 
In  any  case  it  remained  inexplicable. 

He  was  stirring  the  fire  when  a  tap  sounded  on  the 
door  and  the  policeman  entered,  followed  by  an  in 
spector. 


136  THE  KING  OF 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Step  Higher. 

"This  is  the  boy,  sir,"  said  the  policeman. 

"Oh,  is  that  him?"  observed  the  inspector,  sticking 
his  thumbs  into  his  belt  and  gazing  at  Philip  with  pro 
fessional  severity. 

Philip  met  their  scrutiny  without  flinching.  He 
leaned  against  the  wall  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
one  fist  clinched  over  the  pouchful  of  gold,  the  other 
guarding  a  diamond  bigger  than  the  Koh-i-Noor. 

"I  am  sorry  I  have  only  one  chair,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  apologetically. 

"That's  all  right,  my  lad,"  said  the  inspector.  "The 
constable  here  tells  me  that  you  very  pluckily  helped 
him  to  capture  a  notorious  burglar.  The  man  was  hid 
ing  in  this  mews,  and  it  seems  you  first  saw  him  looking 
in  through  your  window.  What  were  you  doing  at  the 
time?" 

"Packing  my  portmanteau." 

"Oh,  packing  your  portmanteau." 

"Yes.    That  is  it." 

He  stooped  and  nonchalantly  threw  it  open.  His 
clothes  and  boots,  and  some  of  the  other  contents,  were 
exposed  to  view.  The  inspector  laughed. 

"Not  many  diamonds  there,  Bradley." 

"No,  sir.    I  told  you  Mason  was  talking  rubbish." 

"Did  he  say  any  more  about  me  being  the  boy  who 
found  the  meteor?"  asked  Philip,  with  a  first-rate  at 
tempt  at  a  grin. 


DIAMONDS  137 

"Wouldn't  talk  of  anything  else,"  volunteered  P.  C. 
Bradley. 

"Judging  by  the  way  he  dropped  when  I  hit  him,  I 
expect  he  saw  stars,"  said  Philip. 

"Are  you  leaving  here  ?"  asked  the  inspector. 

"Yes,  I  must.  The  company  which  owns  these  prem 
ises  intends  to  pull  them  down  on  the  first  of  next 
month." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Anson." 

"Ah!  I  think  I  remember  hearing  something  about 
your  mother's  death.  Very  nice  woman,  I  was  told. 
A  lady,  too." 

"Yes,  all  that,  and  more." 

"Of  course,  that  accounts  for  your  manners  and 
appearance.  Have  you  found  some  friends?" 

The  inspector's  glance  roved  from  the  serviceable 
portmanteau  to  Philip's  tidy  garments,  and  it  was  his 
business  to  make  rapid  deductions. 

"Yes,  most  fortunately." 

"Anybody  connected  with  Sharpe  &  Smith?"  the 
constable  put  in. 

"Sharpe  &  Smith !    Who  are  they?" 

"Don't  you  know  ?  Their  young  man  certainly  didn't 
seem  to  know  much  about  your  movements.  He  has 
been  here  twice  looking  for  you.  The  first  time  was, 
let  me  see,  last  Monday,  about  four  o'clock.  I  was 
on  duty  in  the  main  road,  and  he  asked  me  for  some 
information.  We  came  and  looked  in,  but  your  door 
was  locked.  The  man  on  this  beat  this  afternoon  told 
me  that  the  same  clerk  was  making  further  inquiries 
to-day,  so  as  soon  as  I  came  on  night  duty  I  strolled 


138  THE  KING  OF 

into  the  mews  to  find  out  if  you  were  at  home.  That 
is  how  I  happened  to  see  you." 

He  turned  toward  the  inspector. 

"He  was  packing  his  bag  at  the  moment,  sir,  and 
Mason  had  evidently  been  scared  from  the  window  by 
my  footsteps  in  the  arch." 

The  inspector  pursed  out  his  under  lip. 

"The  whole  thing  is  perfectly  clear,"  he  said.  "Boy, 
have  you  got  a  watch?" 

"No,"  said  Philip,  surprised  by  this  odd  question. 

"Bradley,  he  hasn't  got  a  watch,"  observed  the  in 
spector.  He  again  addressed  Philip. 

"Where  are  you  going  to-morrow?" 

"I  am  not  quite  sure,  but  my  address  will  be  known 
to  Mrs.  Wrigley,  the  James  Street  Laundry,  Shepherd's 
Hush." 

"Ah!  The  constable  says  you  do  not  wish  to  be 
mixed  up  in  the  arrest  of  Mason.  There  is  no  need 
for  you  to  appear  in  court,  but — er — in  such  cases  as 
yours,  the — er — police  like  to  show  thfcir — er — appre 
ciation  of  your  services.  That  is  so,  Bradley,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I  shouldn't  be 
here  now.  Jocky  had  me  fairly  cornered." 

"You  had  no  time  to  summon  assistance?" 

"I  barely  heard  he  \vas  here,  before  the  window  was 
smashed,  and  I  knew  he  was  trying  to  get  out  the  other 
way.  You  heard  him,  Anson  ?" 

Philip  looked  the  policeman  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"You  had  just  taken  off  your  greatcoat  when  the 
glass  cracked,"  he  said. 

Police  Constable  Bradley  stooped  to  pick  up  his  coat. 
He  did  not  wish  this  portion  of  the  night's  proceedings 
to  be  described  too  minutely.  In  moving  the  garment 


DIAMONDS  139 

he  disturbed  the  packet  of  letters.  Instantly  Philip  re 
called  the  names  of  the  solicitors  mentioned  by  the 
constable. 

"You  said  that  a  clerk  from  Messrs.  Sharpe  &  Smith 
called  here  twice?"  he  asked. 
1     "Yes." 

He  picked  out  one  of  the  letters,  opened  it,  and  made 
certain  of  his  facts  before  he  cried,  angrily : 

"Then  I  want  to  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
them.  They  treated  my  mother  shamefully." 

The  inspector  had  sharp  eyes. 

"What  is  the  date  of  that  letter?"  he  inquired. 

"January  i8th  of  this  year." 

"And  what  are  those — pawn  tickets  ?" 

"Yes,  some  of  my  mother's  jewelry  and  dresses. 
Her  wedding  ring  was  the  last  to  go.  Most  of  them 
are  out  of  date,  but  I  intend  to — I  will  try  to  save 
some  of  them,  especially  her  wedding  ring." 

Jocky  Mason's  romance  was  now  dissipated  into  thin 
air.  The  contents  of  the  portmanteau,  the  squalid 
appearance  of  the  house,  the  date  of  the  solicitor's  let 
ter,  the  bundle  of  pawn  tickets,  offered  conclusive  evi 
dence  to  the  inspector's  matter-of-fact  mind  that  the 
ex-convict's  story  was  the  effect  of  a  truncheon  rapidly 
applied  to  a  brain  excited  by  the  newspaper  comments 
,on  a  sensational  yarn  about  some  boy  who  had  found 
a  parcel  of  diamonds. 

This  youngster  had  not  been  favored  by  any  such 
extraordinary  piece  of  luck.  Simple  chance  had  led 
him  to  put  the  police  on  the  track  of  a  much-wanted 
scoundrel,  and  he  had  very  bravely  prevented  a  mem 
ber  of  the  force  from  being  badly  worsted  in  the  en 
suing  encounter. 


140  THE  KING  OF 

A  subscription  would  be  made  among  the  officers 
and  men  of  the  division,  and  they  would  give  him  a 
silver  watch,  with  a  suitable  inscription. 

The  inspector  noted  the  address  given  by  Philip. 
It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  ask  his  Christian 
name,  when  the  constable  suggested  that  they  should 
examine  the  stable  in  which  Mason  had  hidden. 

They  went  up  the  mews.  Philip  locked  his  door, 
extinguished  the  candle,  and  lay  down  on  the  mattress, 
fully  dressed,  with  his  newly  bought  rug  for  covering. 

He  was  so  utterly  tired,  so  exhausted  physically  and 
mentally  by  the  sturm  und  drang  of  this  eventful  day, 
that  he  was  sound  asleep  when  the  two  men  returned. 

They  saw  him  through  the  window. 

"He's  a  fine  lad,"  said  the  inspector,  thoughtfully. 
"I  wonder  what  he  is  going  to  make  of  himself.  We 
might  have  asked  him  who  his  friends  were,  but  they 
are  not  badly  off,  or  he  couldn't  have  got  that  bag  and 
his  new  clothes.  What  on  earth  caused  Mason  to  con 
nect  him  with  that  diamond  story?" 

"It's  hard  to  say,"  observed  the  constable. 

"I  will  look  round  and  have  a  chat  with  him  in  the 
morning.  Poor,  little  chap!  He's  sleeping  like  a  top 
now." 

The  inspector  called  at  No.  3,  Johnson's  Mews,  soon 
after  ten  next  morning,  but  the  door  was  locked  and 
the  bird  flown.  He  spoke  to  Mason  after  that  worthy 
was  remanded  for  a  week,  but  a  night's  painful  seclus 
ion  had  sealed  the  burglar's  lips.  He  vowed,  with  fear 
ful  emphasis,  to  "get  even"  with  the  kid  who  "ahted" 
him,  for  the  policeman's  evidence  had  revealed  the 
truth  concerning  the  arrest.  But  not  another  word 
would  Mason  say  about  the  diamonds,  and  for  a  little 


DIAMONDS  141 

while  the  inspector  placed  his  overnight  revelations  in 
the  category  of  myths  familiar  to  the  police  in  their 
daily  dealings  with  criminals. 


Philip  awoke  shortly  before  seven. 

He  was  cold  and  stiff.  The  weather  was  chilly,  and 
there  was  no  ardent  meteor  in  the  back  yard  to  keep  the 
temperature  of  the  house  at  a  grateful  point  during  the 
night. 

But  his  active,  young  frame  quickly  dissipated  the 
effects  of  a  deep  sleep  on  a  draughty  floor.  He  washed 
his  face  and  hands  at  the  sink  in  the  scullery,  and  his 
next  thought  was  for  breakfast,  a  proof,  if  proof  were 
needed,  that  he  arose  refreshed  in  mind  and  body. 

In  the  Mile  End  Road  there  are  plenty  of  early  morn 
ing  restaurants.  At  one  of  them  he  made  a  substantial 
meal,  and,  on  his  return  to  the  mews,  he  lost  not  a 
moment  in  carrying  out  a  systematic  search  through 
all  parts  of  the  house  and  yard  for  any  traces  of  the 
meteor  which  might  have  escaped  his  ken  in  the  dark 
ness. 

Amidst  the  earth  and  broken  stones  of  the  excava 
tion  there  were  a  few  fragments  of  ore  and  some  atomic 
specimens  of  the  diamantiferous  material — not  suffi 
cient,  all  told,  to  fill  the  palm  of  his  hand.  But  he 
gathered  them  for  obvious  reasons,  and  then  devoted 
five  vigorous  minutes  with  O'Brien's  spade  to  the  task 
of  filling  up  the  deep  hole  itself. 

By  lowering  the  flagstones  and  breaking  the  earth 
beneath,  he  soon  gave  the  small  yard  an  appearance 
of  chaos  which  might  certainly  puzzle  people,  but  which 


142  THE  KING  OF 

would  afford  no  possible  clew  to  the  nature  of  the  dis 
turbing  element. 

At  best  they  might  imagine  that  the  dread  evidence 
of  some  weird  crime  lay  in  the  broken  area.  If  so, 
they  could  dig  until  they  were  tired.  But,  indeed,  he 
was  now  guarding  against  a  most  unlikely  hypothesis. 
The  probability  was  that  Johnson's  Mews  would  soon 
cease  to  exist  and  become  almost  as  fabulous  as  the 
Island  of  Atlantis. 

Moreover,  he  had  a  project  dimly  outlined  in  his 
mind  which  might  become  definite  if  all  went  well  with 
him  that  day.  Then  the  ownership  of  No.  3,  Johnson's 
Mews,  would  cease  to  trouble  him,  for  Philip  was 
quite  sure  the  whole  power  of  the  law  would  be  in 
voked  to  prevent  him  from  dealing  with  his  meteor 
if  once  the  exact  place  where  it  fell  became  publicly 
known. 

O'Brien's  shop  was  scarcely  open  before  Philip  was 
there  with  his  remaining  portmanteau. 

"Arrah,  Phil,  me  bhoy,  where  in  the  name  of  good 
ness  are  ye  gatherin'  the  bee-utiful,  leather  thrunks 
from?"  asked  the  pensioner. 

"This  is  the  last  one,"  laughed  the  boy.  "I  am  off 
now  to  find  a  cab,  and  you  won't  see  me  again  until 
Monday." 

"Faix,  he's  a  wonderful  lad  entirely,"  commented  the 
old  man.  "What  sort  of  plundher  has  he  in  the  bags, 
at  all  at  all?" 

In  idle  curiosity  he  lifted  the  last  addition  to  the  pile. 
It  was  normal,  even  light  in  weight.  Then  he  nodded 
knowingly. 

"A  lot  of  ould  duds  belongin'  to  Mrs.  Anson,  I'll  be 
boun'.  Ah,  well,  the  Lord  rest  her  sowl,  'tis  she  was 


DIAMONDS  143 

the  fine  woman.  I  wish  I  had  some  one  as  cliver  as  her 
to  write  for  me  to  that  thafe  of  the  worruld  who 
thried " 

As  there  are  no  signs  in  the  art  of  literature  similar 
to  those  which  serve  the  needs  of  musicians,  whereby 
thoughts  can  be  expressed  da  capo,  like  a  musical 
phrase,  without  risk  of  wearying  the  reader,  it  must 
be  understood  that  Philip  had  returned  from  far-away 
Fenchurch  Street  Station  with  a  four-wheeler  before 
O'Brien  exhausted  the  first  tirade  of  the  day  against 
the  War  Office. 

With  ,a  cunning  that  amounted  to  genius,  the  boy 
placed  the  large,  light  portmanteau  and  the  two  small, 
heavy  ones  on  the  roof  of  the  vehicle,  where  the  driver 
did  not  notice  the  least  peculiarity  in  their  weight. 

The  two  large,  heavy  bags  he  managed  to  lift  into 
the  interior,  one  of  them  needing  all  his  resources  to 
carry  it  from  the  shop  door  to  the  cab.  Were  he  not 
fresh  and  untired,  he  could  not  have  done  it.  As  it 
was,  the  effort  was  a  splendid  success. 

The  cabman  knew  little,  and  O'Brien  less,  of  the 
tremendous  avoirdupois  of  this  innocent-looking  bag 
gage.  A  long-suffering  horse  may  have  had  his  private 
views,  but  he  did  not  express  them. 

Saying  good-by  to  the  pensioner  in  the  shop,  Philip 

}  took  good  care  that  none  overheard  his  direction  to  the 

driver.    In  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  he  lumbered 

into  Charing  Cross  Station  without  a  soul  in  the  East 

End  being  aware  of  his  destination. 

"Where  to,  sir?"  asked  a  porter  who  opened  the 
door  for  him. 

"I  only  want  these  bags  to  be  taken  to  the  luggage 
room,"  said  Philip.  "You  had  better  get  some  one  to 


144  THE  KING  OF 

help  you  with  these  two.  They  are  very  heavy.  They 
contain  specimens  of  iron  ore." 

The  man  took  a  pull  at  the  solid  one. 

"By  gum,"  he  grinned.  "You're  right.  That  would 
surprise  anybody  who  tried  to  pick  it  up  and  run  away 
with  it." 

"Rather,"  agreed  Philip.  "I  am  glad  to  say  it  is  not 
going  very  far — only  to  a  laboratory  for  analysis." 

He  saw  his  belongings  wheeled  away  on  a  barrow 
before  he  paid  the  cabman  liberally.  He  only  gave  the 
porter  sixpence.  The  man  believed  that  Philip  was  a 
clerk  in  charge  of  the  minerals ;  he  was  grateful  for 
even  so  small  a  sum. 

On  leaving  the  station,  with  the  receipt  for  his  lug 
gage  in  his  pocket,  Philip  saw  the  four-wheeler  turning 
into  the  Strand,  on  its  way  back  to  Fenchurch  Street. 
He  smiled.  The  tie  between  East  and  West  was  sev 
ered.  No  matter  what  else  might-  happen  to  it,  his 
meteor  had  left  Johnson's  Mews  forever. 

It  was  now  a  few  minutes  past  nine,  but  he  still  had 
a  good  deal  to  do  before  he  preserved  himself  at  Isaac- 
stein's  at  eleven. 

It  was  necessary  to  change  his  skin  once  more  before 
the  metamorphosis  he  contemplated  was  complete.  He 
was  acquainted  with  a  large  outfitting  emporium  in 
Ludgate  Hill  which  exactly  suited  his  requirements,  so 
he  rode  thither  on  a  'bus. 

Passing  Somerset  House,  he  recalled  the  Jew's  re 
mark  about  getting  his  letter  "stamped."  He  did  not 
know  what  stamping  meant  in  a  legal  sense,  but  he 
guessed  that  it  implied  the  affixing  of  a  seal  of  some 
sort.  There  was  no  need  to  hurry  over  it,  he  thought. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Isaacstein  would  either  keep  his 


DIAMONDS  145 

word  about  the  five  thousand  pounds  or  endeavor  to 
wriggle  out  of  the  compact.  In  either  event,  Philip 
had  already  determined  to  consult  Mr.  Abingdon. 

He  had  now  in  his  pocket  about  thirty-eight  pounds. 
(Half  an  hour  later  he  was  wearing  a  new  tweed  suit, 
new  hat  and  new  boots ;  he  had  acquired  a  stock 
of  linen  and  underclothing,  an  umbrella  and  an 
overcoat.  Some  of  these  articles,  together  with  his  dis 
carded  clothes,  were  packed  in  two  new,  leather  port 
manteaux,  on  which  his  initials  would  be  painted  by 
noon,  when  he  would  call  for  them. 

He  paid  twenty-six  pounds  for  the  lot,  and  the  man 
who  waited  on  him  tried  in  vain  to  tempt  him  to  spend 
more.  Philip  knew  exactly  what  he  wanted.  He  ad 
hered  to  his  program.  He  possessed  sufficient  genu 
ine  luggage  and  clothing  to  be  presentable  anywhere. 
He  had  enough  money  to  maintain  himself  for  weeks 
if  necessary.  For  the  rest,  another  couple  of  hours 
would  place  it  beyond  doubt  whether  he  was  a  million 
aire  or  not ;  for,  if  Isaacstein  failed  him,  London  was 
big  enough  and  wealthy  enough  to  quickly  decide  that 
point. 

He  entered  the  Hatton  Garden  office  as  the  clocks 
struck  the  hour. 

Some  boys  of  his  age  might  have  experienced  a 
malicious  delight  when  the  youthful  Israelite  on  guard 
bounced  up  with  a  smirk  and  a  ready : 

"Yessir.    Vat  iss  it,  sir?" 

Not  so  Philip.  He  simply  asked  for  Mr.  Isaacstein, 
but  he  certainly  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  expression 
of  utter  amazement  when  his  identity  dawned  on  his 
hearer. 

The  "Yessir,  vil  you  blease  valk  in,"  was  very  faint, 


146  THE  KING  OF 

though ;  the  office  boy  ushered  him  upstairs  as  one  in 
a  dream,  for  he  had  been  warned  to  expect  Philip,  a 
Philip  in  rags,  not  a  smart,  young  gentleman  like  a 
bank  clerk. 

Isaacstein  on  this  occasion  looked  and  acted  the 
sound  man  of  business  he  really  was. 

He  awraited  Philip  in  his  private  office.  He  seemed 
to  be  pleased  by  the  change  effected  in  the  boy's  out 
ward  appearance.  There  was  less  of  burlesque,  less; 
outrage  to  his  feelings,  in  discussing  big  sums  of  money 
with  a  person  properly  attired  than  with  one  who  wore 
the  garments  of  a  tramp. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "You  are 
punctual,  I  am  glad  to  see.  Have  you  been  to  Somer 
set  House?" 

"No,"  said  Philip. 

"Why  not?  If  you  are  going  to  control  a  big  capital, 
you  must  learn  business  habits  or  you  will  lose  it,  no 
matter  how  large  it  may  be." 

"Would  Somerset  House  compel  you  to  pay  me,  Mr. 
Isaacstein  ?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  the  stamping  of  important  docu 
ments  is  a  means  toward  an  end,  I  assure  you." 

"I  will  see  to  it,  but  I  wanted  primarily  to  be  certain 
of  one  of  two  things :  First,  will  you  pay  the  five 
thousand  pounds  as  promised?  Second,  will  you  give 
me  a  fresh  purchase  note  for  my  diamonds  which  will 
not  indicate  so  definitely  that  I  am  the  boy  concerning 
whom  there  has  been  so  much  needless  publicity  during 
the  last  few  days?" 

It  was  of  no  avail  for  Isaacstein  to  bandy  words 
with  Philip.  A  boy  of  fifteen  who  casually  introduced 
such  a  word  as  "primarily"  into  a  sentence,  and  gave 


DIAMONDS  147 

a  shrewd  thrust  about  "needless  publicity"  to  the  per 
son  responsible  for  it,  was  not  to  be  browbeaten,  even 
in  business  affairs. 

The  Jew  whipped  out  a  check  book. 

"Am  I  to  make  out  a  check  for  five  thousand  pounds 
to  'Philip'  ?"  he  asked. 

"No ;  to  Philip  Anson,  please." 

"Thank  you ;  and  now,  shall  I  put  any  address  on  the 
contract  note  which  I  will  hand  you?" 

"The  Pall  Mall  Hotel." 

Isaacstein  with  difficulty  choked  back  a  comment. 
The  Pall  Mall  Hotel  was  the  most  expensive  establish 
ment  in  London.  He  tossed  the  check  and  another 
document  across  the  table. 

"There  you  are,"  he  said.  "Come  with  me  to  my 
bank.  You  will  excuse  the  hurry.  I  have  a  lot  to  do 
before  I  leave  for  Amsterdam  to-night." 

Philip  saw  that  the  acknowledgment  of  his  diamonds 
appeared  to  be  in  proper  form. 

"There  is  no  need  at  this  moment  to  explain  to  the 
bank  manager  that  I  am  the  hero  of  the  police  court 
affair?"  he  said. 

"None  whatever.  I  am  lending  you  the  money,  and 
will  be  paying  you  a  good  deal  more  very  soon.  That 
will  be  sufficient.  He  may  draw  his  own  conclusions, 
of  course." 

Philip  was  now  looking  at  the  check. 

"Why  do  you  put  'account  payee'  between  these  two 
strokes  ?"  he  said. 

The  Jew  explained,  and  even  found  time  to  show  him 
how  to  cross  and  indorse  such  important  slips  of  paper. 

Then  they  walked  to  the  bank,  a  few  doors  away. 


148  THE  KING  OF 

The  elderly  manager  was  obviously  surprised  by  the 
size  of  the  check  and  the  youth  of  the  "payee." 

"Oh,  this  is  nothing — a  mere  flea  bite,"  said  Isaac- 
stein.  "In  a  few  days  he  will  have  ten  times  the  amount 
to  his  credit." 

"Dear  me.  Are  you  realizing  property  on  his  be 
half?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Mr.  Anson,"  said  the  manager,  pleasantly, 
"I  hope  you  will  take  care  of  your  money." 

"I  want  you  to  do  that,"  smiled  Philip,  who  was 
slightly  nonplused  by  the  prefix  to  his  name,  heard  by 
him  for  the  first  time. 

"Oh,  if  you  leave  it  with  me  it  will  be  quite  safe." 

"I  cannot  leave  all,  but  certainly  I  will  not  spend 
five  thousand  pounds  in  a  week.  I  mean  to  buy  some 
property,  though,  and — can  I  have  a  hundred  now  ?" 

"By  all  means." 

Philip  wrote  his  first  check  and  received  twenty  crisp 
five-pound  notes.  Isaacstein  stood  by,  smiling  grimly. 
He  had  not  yet  got  over  the  farcical  side  of  this  extraor 
dinary  occurrence,  and  he  was  wondering  what  the 
bank  manager  would  have  said  could  he  but  see  Philip 
as  he,  Isaacstein,  saw  him  no  later  than  the  previous 
day. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Philip,  whose  heart  was  beating 
a  little  now,  "suppose  I  wish  to  give  a  reference  to  any 
body,  will  you  two  gentlemen  answer  for  me?" 

"The  bank  wall  always  say  whether  or  not  your  check 
will  be  honored  to  a  stated  amount.  In  other  respects, 
Mr.  Isaacstein,  who  brought  you  here,  will  serve  your 
purpose  admirably — none  better  in  the  city  of  London," 
replied  the  banker. 


DIAMONDS  149 

Isaacstein  placed  both  feet  together  and  his  head 
sank  between  his  shoulders.  He  again  reminded  Philip 
of  a  top.  The  boy  fancied  that  in  a  second  or  two  he 
would  begin  to  spin  and  purr.  The  bank  manager's 
statement  flattered  the  little  man.  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  he  understood.  Philip  privately  resolved  to  make 
this  human  top  wobble  when  alone  with  him  in  the 
street  again. 

"One  more  question,  and  I  have  ended,"  he  said. 
"Where  is  the  best  place  to  store  some  valuables?" 

"It  all  depends  on  their  nature.  What  are  they? 
Plate,  jewels,  paper 

The  Jew's  ears  were  alert  now,  and  the  boy  smiled 
faintly. 

"Oh,"  he  explained,  "I  have  a  very  large  quantity  of 
rich  ore  which  I  wish  to  lodge  in  some  place  where  it 
will  be  secure  and  yet  easy  of  access." 

"I  would  recommend  you  to  rent  a  strong-room  in 
the  safe  deposit  across  the  street.  There  you  have 
absolute  security  and  quick  access  during  business 
hours." 

Philip  expressed  his  thanks  and  quitted  the  bank  with 
his  agent. 

In  the  middle  of  Holborn,  in  the  midst  of  the  jostling, 
hurrying  occupants  of  one  of  the  busiest  thoroughfares 
in  London,  he  pulled  the  giant  diamond  out  of  his 
pocket  and  suddenly  held  it  under  the  Jew's  nose. 

"I  told  you  I  had  them  as  big  as  hen's  eggs,"  he 
cried.  "What  do  you  think  of  this  one?" 

Isaacstein  glanced  at  it  for  one  fascinated  second. 
Then  he  looked  around  with  the  stealthy  air  of  a  man 
who  fears  lest  he  may  be  detected  in  the  commission  of 
a  terrible  crime. 


1 50  THE  KING  OF 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  whispered. 

"No,  not  mad,"  answered  Philip,  coolly,  as  he  pock 
eted  the  gem.  "I  only  wanted  you  to  wobble." 

"You  wanted  me  to  wobble !" 

"Yes.  You  look  so  like  a  big  top  at  times.  When 
do  we  meet  again,  Mr.  Isaacstein?" 

"You  are  not  going  away  by  yourself  with  that  stone 
in  your  pocket?" 

"Why  not!  It  attracted  no  special  notice  from  the 
people  as  I  came  here.  Nobody  can  smell  it.  It  won't 
'explode,  nor  burn  a  hole  in  my  clothes.  It  is  quite 
safe,  I  assure  you." 

"But  let  me  take  it  to  Amsterdam.  Boy!  boy!  It 
must  weigh  four  hundred  carats !" 

\  ° 

"Enough  of  business  for  to-day.  I  have  a  lot  of 
things  to  attend  to.  Shall  we  say  Tuesday?" 

"No.  Wednesday  at  eleven.  One  word.  Let  me 
put  it  in  my  safe." 

"Good-by." 

Philip  hailed  a  hansom  and  drove  off  to  Ludgate 
Hill,  smiling  graciously  at  Isaacstein  as  he  whirled 
away. 

The  Jew  swayed  gently  through  the  crowd  until  he 
reached  the  office,  when  he  dropped  limply  into  his 
chair.  Then  he  shouted  for  his  confidential  clerk. 

"Samuel,"  he  murmured,  "take  charge,  please.  I'm 
going  home.  I  want  to  rest  before  I  start  for  Harwich. 
And,  Samuel!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"While  I  am  away  you  might  order  another  scales. 
In  future  we  will  sell  diamonds  by  the  pound,  like 
potatoes." 


DIAMONDS  151 


CHAPTER  XL 

In  Clover. 

After  picking  up  his  belongings  at  the  outfitter's, 
two  smart  Gladstone  bags  with  "P.  A."  nicely  painted 
on  them,  Philip  stopped  his  cab  at  Somerset  House. 
He  experienced  no  difficulty  in  reaching  the  proper 
department  for  stamping  documents,  and  thus  giving 
them  legal  significance. 

An  official  glanced  at  Isaacstein's  contract  note,  and 
then  looked  at  Philip,  evidently  regarding  him  as  a 
relative  or  youthful  secretary  of  the  "Philip  Anson, 
Esq.,  Pall  Mall  Hotel,"  whose  name  figured  on  the 
paper. 

"I  suppose  you  only  want  this  to  be  indicated?"  he 
said. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Philip,  who  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
what  he  meant. 

"Sixpence,"  was  the  curt  rejoinder. 

Philip  thought  he  would  be  called  on  to  pay  many 
pounds. — some  amount  in  the  nature  of  a  percentage 
of  the  sum  named  in  the  agreement.  He  produced  the 
coin  demanded,  and  made  no  comment.  With  stamp 
or  without,  he  knew  that  Isaacstein  would  go  straight 
in  this  preliminary  undertaking.  A  single  glimpse  of 
the  monster  diamond  in  his  pocket  had  made  that  quite 
certain. 

For  the  rest,  he  was  rapidly  making  out  a  plan  which 
should  secure  his  interests  effectually.  He  hoped,  be- 


152  THE  KING  OF 

fore  the  day  was  out,  to  have  set  on  foot  arrangements 
which  would  free  him  from  all  anxiety. 

From  Somerset  House  he  drove  to  the  Pall  Mall 
Hotel.  A  gigantic  hall  porter,  looking  like  a  youthful 
major-general  in  undress  uniform,  received  him  with 
much  ceremony  and  ushered  him  to  the  office,  where 
an  urbane  clerk  instantly  classed  him  as  the  avant 
courier  of  an  American  family. 

"I  want  a  sitting  room  and  bedroom  en  suite,"  said 
Philip. 

"One  bedroom?"  was  the  surprised  query. 

"Yes." 

"How  many  of  you  are  there,  then?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"Yes." 

The  clerk  fumbled  with  the  register.  Precocious 
juveniles  were  not  unknown  to  him,  but  a  boy  of 
Philip's  type  had  not  hitherto  arisen  over  his  horizon. 

"A  sitting  room  and  a  bedroom  en  suite?"  he  re 
peated. 

"Exactly." 

The  clerk  was  disconcerted  by  Philip's  steady  gaze. 

"On  what  floor?"  he  asked. 

"Really,"  said  Philip,  "I  don't  know.  Suppose  you 
tell  me  what  accommodation  you  have.  Then  I  will 
decide  at  once." 

The  official,  who  was  one  of  the  most  skilled  hotel 
clerks  in  London,  found  it  ridiculous  to  be  put  out  of 
countenance  by  a  mere  boy,  who  could  not  be  a  day 
older  than  seventeen,  and  might  be  a  good  deal  less. 
He  cast  a  critical  eye  on  Philip's  clothing,  and  saw 


DIAMONDS  153 

that,  while  it  was  good,  it  had  not  the  gloss  of  Vere  de 
Vere. 

He  would  paralyze  him  at  one  fell  blow,  little  dream 
ing  that  the  other  read  his  glance  and  knew  the  exact 
mental  process  of  his  reasoning. 

"There  is  a  good  suite  vacant  on  the  first  floor,  but 
it  contains  a  dressing  room  and  bath  room,"  he  said, 
smiling  the  smile  of  a  very  knowing  person. 
'That  sounds  all  right.    I  will  take  it." 
"Ah,  yes.    It  costs  five  pounds  a  day !" 
Each  of  the  six  words  in  that  portentous  sentence 
contained  a  note  of  admiration  that  swelled  out  into  a 
magnificent  crescendo.    It  was  a  verbal  avalanche,  be 
neath  which  this  queer  youth  should  be  crushed  into 
the  very  dust. 

"Five  pounds  a  day !"  observed  Philip,  calmly.  "I 
suppose  there  would  be  a  reduction  if  taken  for  a 
month  ?" 

"Well — er — during  the  season  it  is  not — er — usual 
^.^  » 

"Oh,  very  well.  I  can  easily  arrange  for  a  per 
manency  later  if  I  think  fit.  What  number  is  the  suite, 
please,  and  will  you  kindly  have  my  luggage  sent  there 
at  once?" 

The  clerk  was  demoralized,  but  he  managed  to  say : 

"Do  you  quite  understand  the  terms — thirty-five 
pounds  a  week !" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  "Shall  I  pay  you  a  week  in  ad 
vance?  I  can  give  you  notes,  but  it  will  oblige  me  if 
you  take  a  check,  as  I  may  want  the  ready  money  in 
my  possession." 

Receiving  a  faint  indication  that,  under  the  circum 
stances,  a  check  would  be  esteemed  a  favor,  Philip 


154  THE  KING  OF 

whipped  out  his  check  book,  filled  in  a  check  to  the 
hotel,  and  did  not  forget  to  cross  it  "ac.  payee." 

The  clerk  watched  him  with  an  amazement  too 
acute  for  words.  He  produced  the  register  and  Philip 
signed  his  name.  He  was  given  a  receipt  for  the  pay 
ment  on  account,  and  then  asked  to  be  shown  to  his 
rooms. 

A  boy  smaller,  but  not  younger,  than  himself — a 
smart  page,  who  listened  to  the  foregoing  with  deep 
interest — asked  timidly  whether  the  guest  would  go  by 
the  stairs  or  use  the  elevator. 

"I  will  walk,"  said  Philip,  who  liked  to  ascertain  his 
bearings. 

The  palatial  nature  of  the  apartments  took  him  by 
surprise  when  he  reached  them.  Although  far  from 
being  the  most  expensive  suite  in  the  hotel,  the  sur 
roundings  were  of  a  nature  vastly  removed  from  any 
thing  hitherto  known  to  him. 

Even  the  charming  house  he  inhabited  as  a  child 
in  Dieppe  contained  no  such  luxury.  His  portmanteau 
followed  quickly,  and  a  valet  entered.  Philip's  quick 
ears  caught  the  accent  of  a  Frenchman,  and  the  boy 
spoke  to  the  man  in  the  language  of  his  country,  pure 
and  undefiled  by  the  barbarisms  of  John  Bull. 

They  were  chatting  about  the  weather,  which,  by  the 
way,  ever  since  the  nineteenth  of  March  had  been 
extraordinarily  fine,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door  and  the  manager  entered. 

The  clerk  found  the  situation  too  much  for  him.  He 
had  appealed  to  a  higher  authority. 

Even  the  suave  and  diplomatic  Monsieur  Foret  could 
not  conceal  the  astonishment  that  leaped  to  his  eyes 
when  he  saw  the  occupant  of  Suite  F. 


DIAMONDS  155 

"I  think  you  will  find  these  rooms  very  comfortable," 
he  said,  for  lack  of  aught  better.  A  commissionaire 
was  already  on  his  way  to  the  bank  to  ask  if  the  check 
was  all  right. 

"Are  you  the  manager?"  asked  Philip,  who  was 
washing  his  hands. 

"Yes." 

"I  am  glad  you  called.  One  of  your  clerks  seemed 
to  be  taken  aback  because  a  youngster  like  me  engaged 
an  expensive  suite.  I  suppose  the  proceeding  is  un 
usual,  but  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  create  ex 
citement.  It  need  not  be  commented  on,  for  instance  ?" 

"No,  no.     Of  course  not." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  have  a  special  reason  for 
wishing  to  live  at  this  hotel.  Indeed,  I  have  given  this 
address  for  certain  important  documents.  Will  you 
kindly  arrange  that  I  may  be  treated  like  any  ordinary 
person  ?" 

"I  hope-  the  clerk  was  not  rude  to  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  am  only  anxious  to  prevent 
special  notice  being  taken  of  me.  You  see,  if  others 
get  to  know  I  am  living  here  alone,  I  will  be  pointed 
out  as  a  curiosity,  and  that  will  not  be  pleasant." 

The  request  was  eminently  reasonable.  The  man 
ager  assured  him  that  strict  orders  would  be  given  on 
the  point  instantly,  though  he  was  quite  certain,  in  his 
own  mind,  that  inquiry  would  soon  be  made  for  this 
remarkable  youth,  perhaps  by  the  police. 

"You  can  leave  us,"  said  Philip  to  the  valet  in 
French. 

Now  the  chance  use  of  that  language,  no  less  than 
his  perfect  accent,  went  a  long  way  toward  removing 
the  manager's  suspicions.  A  boy  who  was  so  well  edu- 


156  THE  KING  OF 

cated  must  be  quite  out  of  the  common.  Perhaps  some 
eccentric  parent  or  guardian  encouraged  him  to  act 
independently  thus  early  in  life.  He  might  be  the  son 
of  a  rich  man  coming  to  London  for  a  special  course 
of  study.  The  name,  Anson,  was  an  aristocratic  one. 
But  his  clothes — they  were  odd.  Good  enough,  but 
not  the  right  thing. 

"Will  you  oblige  me  by  recommending  a  good 
tailor?"  said  Philip.  "I  need  a  complete  outfit  of  wear 
ing  apparel,  and  it  will  save  me  a  lot  of  trouble  if 
somebody  will  tell  me  exactly  what  to  buy  and  where 
to  buy  it." 

His  uncanny  trick  of  thought  reading  disconcerted 
the  manager  greatly.  Undoubtedly  the  boy  was  a  puz 
zle.  Never  had  this  experienced  man  of  the  world  met 
anyone  more  self-possessed,  more  direct,  and  yet,  with 
it  all,  exceedingly  polite. 

"I  take  it  that  you  want  the  best?"  he  inquired, 
pleasantly. 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  lunching  in  the  hotel?" 

"I  would  like  something  sent  here,  if  you  please, 
and,  there  again,  your  advice  will  be  most  gratefully 
accepted." 

The  manager  felt  that  a  generation  was  growing 
up  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  but  he  simply  answered : 

"I  will  see  to  it.    Do  you — er — take  wine?" 

Philip  laughed,  that  pleasant  whole-souled  laugh  of 
his  which  instantly  secured  him  friends. 

"Not  yet,  Monsieur " 

"Foret  is  my  name." 

"Well,  Monsieur  Foret,  I  am  far  too  young  as  yet 
for  either  wine  or  tobacco.  I  promised  my  mother  I 


DIAMONDS  157 

would  touch  neither  until  I  am  twenty-one,  and  I  will 
keep  my  word.     I  think  I  would  like  some  cafe  au  lait." 

"1  understand.  Your  dejeuner  will  be  sent  up  in  ten 
minutes.  By  the  time  you  have  finished,  I  will  have 
people  here  from  two  or  three  establishments  who  will 
meet  all  your  requirements  in  the  shape  of  clothes  and 
the  rest." 

An  hour's  talk  and  the  payment  of  checks  on  ac 
count  worked  wonders.  Before  many  days  had  passedi 
Philip  was  amply  provided  with  raiment.  His  presence 
in  the  hotel,  too,  attracted  no  comment  whatever.  Peo 
ple  who  saw  him  coming  or  going,  instantly  assumed 
that  he  was  staying  with  his  people,  while  the  manager 
took  care  that  gossip  among  the  employees  was  prompt 
ly  stopped. 

As  for  the  ragged  youth  with  the  diamonds,  he  was 
forgotten,  apparently.  The  newspapers  dropped  him, 
believing,  indeed,  that  Isaacstein  had  worked  some  in 
genious  advertising  dodge  on  his  own  account,  and 
Messrs.  Sharpe  &  Smith  never  dreamed  of  looking 
for  the  lost  Philip  Anson,  the  derelict  from  Johnson's 
Mews,  in  the  Pall  Mall  Hotel,  the  most  luxurious  and 
expensive  establishment  in  London. 

That  afternoon,  Philip  visited  the  Safe  Deposit  Com 
pany.  He  had  little  difficulty,  of  course,  in  securing  a 
small  strong-room.  Pie  encountered  the  wonted  sur 
prise  at  his  youth,  but  the  excellent  argument  of  a 
banking  account  and  the  payment  of  a  year's  rent  in  ad 
vance  soon  cleared  the  air. 

He  transferred  four  of  his  portmanteaux  to  this  se 
cure  environment — the  fifth  was  sent  to  his  hotel. 
When  the  light  failed,  he  drove  to  the  East  End,  and 
made  a  round  of  pawnbrokers'  shops.  Although  some 


158  THE  KING  OF 

of  the  tickets  were  time-expired,  he  recovered  nearly 
all  his  mother's  belongings,  excepting  her  watch. 

The  odd  coincidence  recalled  the  inspector's  implied 
promise  that  he  should  receive  one  as  a  recognition  of 
his  gallantry. 

How  remote,  how  far  removed  from  each  other,  the 
main  events  in  his  life  seemed  to  be  at  this  eventful 
epoch.  As  he  went  westward  in  a  hansom,  he  could 
hardly  bring  himself  to  believe  that  barely  twenty- 
four  hours  had  elapsed  since  he  traveled  to  the  Mile 
End  Road  in  company  with  Mrs.  Wrigley. 

And  the  curious  thing  was  that  he  felt  in  no  sense 
awed  by  the  possession  of  thousands  of  pounds  and 
the  tenancy  of  palatial  chambers  in  a  great  hotel.  His 
career  had  been  too  checkered,  its  recent  developments 
too  stupendous,  to  cause  him  any  undue  emotion.  Ex 
istence,  for  the  hour,  was  a  species  of  well-ordered 
dream,  in  which  imagination  was  untrammeled  save  by 
the  need  to  exercise  his  wits  in  order  to  keep  the 
phantasy  within  the  bounds,  not  of  his  own  brain,  but 
of  other  men's. 

At  the  hotel  he  found  the  French  valet  setting  forth 
a  shirt.  The  man  explained  that  he  required  a  spare 
set  of  studs  and  links. 

This  reminded  Philip  that  there  was  still  a  good  deal 
of  shopping  to  be  done.  He  was  about  to  leave  the 
room  for  the  purpose,  when  the  valet  said: 

"Another  portmanteau  has  arrived  for  monsieur. 
Will  you  be  pleased  to  unlock  it?" 

"No,"  said  Philip.  "It  must  remain  untouched." 
He  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the  sensation  his  tattered 
rags  and  worn  boots  would  make  in  that  place.  Yet, 


DIAMONDS  159 

just  a  week  ago,  he  passed  through  the  street  outside, 
bound  in  the  pitiless  rain  for  Johnson's  Mews,  and 
bent  on  suicide. 

He  walked  into  Regent  Street  and  made  a  num 
ber  of  purchases,  not  forgetting  some  books.  A  double 
silver-mounted  photograph  stand  caught  his  eye.  It 
would  hold  the  two  best  pictures  he  possessed  of  his 
father  and  mother,  so  he  bought  it.  He  also  acquired 
a  dispatch  box  in  which  he  could  store  his  valuables, 
both  jewelry  and  documents,  for  he  had  quite  a  num 
ber  of  receipts,  letters  and  other  things  to  safeguard 
now,  and  he  did  not  wish  servants'  prying  eyes  to  ex 
amine  everything  belonging  to  him. 

When  alone  in  his  room,  he  secured  the  album  and 
locked  that  special  portmanteau  again,  after  stowing 
therein  the  letters  found  beneath  Mrs.  Anson's  pillow. 
Soon  his  mother's  dear  face  smiled  at  him  from  a  beau 
tiful  border  of  filigree  silver.  The  sight  was  pleasant 
to  him,  soothing  to  his  full  mind.  In  her  eyes  was  a 
message  of  faith,  of  trust,  of  absolute  confidence  in  the 
future. 

It  was  strange  that  he  thought  so  little  of  his  father 
at  this  time,  but  the  truth  was  that  his  childhood  was 
passed  so  much  in  his  mother's  company,  and  they 
were  so  inseparable  during  the  last  two  years,  that 
memories  of  his  father  were  shadowy. 

Yet  the  physiognomist  would  have  seen  that  the  boy 
owed  a  great  deal  of  his  strength  of  character  and 
well-knit  frame  to  the  handsome,  stalwart  man  whose 
name  he  bore. 

Philip  loved  his  mother  on  the  compensating  prin 
ciple  that  persons  of  opposite  natures  often  have  an 
overpowering  affinity  for  each  other.  He  resembled 


160  THE  KING  OF 

her  neither  in  features  nor  in  the  more  subtle  traits 
of  character. 

After  a  dinner  the  excellence  of  which  was  in  no 
wise  diminished  by  lack  of  appreciation  on  his  part, 
he  undertook  a  pilgrimage  of  curiosity  to  which  he 
had  previously  determined  to  devote  the  evening. 

He  wondered  unceasingly  to  whom  he  was  indebted 
for  the  good  meals  he  had  enjoyed  in  prison.  Now 
he  would  endeavor  to  find  out. 

A  hansom  took  him  to  Holloway,  but  the  first  efforts 
of  the  driver  failed  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  the 
"Royal  Star  Hotel." 

At  last  Philip  recollected  the  Carder's  added  direc 
tion — "opposite." 

He  dismissed  the  cab  and  walked  to  the  prison  en 
trance.  Directly  in  front  he  saw  a  small  restaurant 
called  the  "Star."  Its  titular  embellishments  were  due 
to  the  warder's  gift  of  humor. 

He  entered.    A  woman  was  knitting  at  a  cash  desk. 

"Until  yesterday,"  he  sairj,  "you  sent  food  regularly 
to  a  boy  named  Anson,  who  was  confined  in  the 
prison " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  the  lady.  "I  on'y  heard  this 
mornin'  that  he  was  let  out." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  who  paid  the  bill?  I 
suppose  it  was  paid  ?" 

"Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  overpaid,"  was  the 
reply.  "You  see,  the  pore  lad  was  remanded  for  a 
week,  an'  Mr.  Judd,  a  man  'oo  lives  in  the  Farringdon 
Road,  kem  'ere  an'  arranged  for  'is  week's  board.  Hav' 
ye  heard  wot  'appened  to  'im?" 

Philip's  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  but  he  managed 
to  answer  that  the  boy  was  all  right;  there  was  no 


DIAMONDS 

charge  against  him.  Then  he  escaped  into  the  street. 
The  one  man  he  had  forgotten  was  his  greengrocer 
friend,  who  had  indeed  acted  the  part  of  the  Good 
Samaritan. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  this,  but  the  boy's 
abounding  good  nature  would  admit  of  none.  He 
hastened  to  Farringdon  Road  with  the  utmost  speed, 
and  found  his  fat  friend  putting  up  the  shutters  of  his 
shop. 

The  restaurant  next  door  was  open.  Philip  ap 
proached  quietly. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Judd,"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"Good-evenin',  sir,"  said  the  greengrocer,  his  eyes 
revealing  not  the  remotest  idea  of  the  identity  of  the 
smart,  young  gentleman  who  addressed  him  so  fa 
miliarly. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Mr.  Judd?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  can't  exactly  bring  to  min' " 

"I  suppose  the  good  fare  you  provided  for  me  at 
Holloway  has  so  altered  my  appearance  that  you  fail 
to  recognize  me  again?" 

"Wot!  Ye  don't  mean  to  s'y 'Ere,  Eliza,  this 

young  gent  is  the  lad  I  was  a-tellin'  you  of.  Re 
manded  till  Saturday,  you  was.  I  saw  in  the  piper  last 
night.  Well,  there,  I'm  done!" 

By  this  time  Philip  was  inside  the  shop,  and  the  stout 
greengrocer  and  his  equally  stout  spouse  were  gazing 
open-mouthed  at  this  well-dressed  youth  who  had  sup 
planted  the  thin  tatterdemalion  so  much  discussed  by 
them  and  their  neighbors. 

Judd  and  the  restaurant  keeper  were  the  only  men 


102  THE  KING  OF 

in  the  locality  who  could  claim  actual  acquaintance  with 
the  boy  whose  strange  proceedings  as  reported  by  the 
newspapers  made  London  gape.  Indeed,  both  men  had 
been  interviewed  by  police  and  reporters  many  times. 
They  were  living  links  with  the  marvelous,  a  pedestal 
of  common  stone  for  an  aerial  phantasy. 

And  now,  here  he  was,  back  again,  dressed  like  a 
young  gentleman,  and  hailing  Jndd  as  a  valued  friend. 
No  wonder  the  greengrocer  lost  his  breath  and  his 
power  of  speech. 

But  Philip  was  smiling  at  him  and  talking. 

"You  were  the  one  man  out  of  many,  Mr.  Judd,  who 
believed  in  me,  and  even  stuck  up  for  me  when  you 
saw  me  led  through  the  street  by  a  policeman  to  be 
imprisoned  on  a  false  charge.  I  did  not  know  until  an 
hour  ago  that  I  was  indebted  to  you  for  an  abundance 
of  excellent  food  while  I  was  remanded  in  prison.  I 
will  not  offer  to  refund  you  the  money  you  spent.  My 
gratitude  will  take  another  form,  which  you  will  learn 
in  a  few  days.  But  I  do  want  to  pay  you  the  ninepence 
I  borrowed.  Would  you  mind  asking  the  proprietor 
of  the  restaurant  to  step  in  here  for  a  moment  ?  Don't 
say  I  am  present.  I  wish  to  avoid  a  crowd,  you  know." 

Judd  had  time  to  collect  his  scattered  ideas  during 
this  long  speech. 

"Blow  the  ninepence!"  he  cried.  "Wot's  ninepence 
for  the  treat  I've  'ad?  People  I  never  set  eyes  on  in 
my  life  afore  kem  'ere  an'  bought  cabbiges,  or  taters, 
or  mebbe  a  few  plums,  an'  then  they'd  stawt:  'Mr. 
hidd.  wasn't  it  you  as  stood  a  dinner  to  the  Boy  King 
of  Diamonds?'  That's  wot  they  christened  yer,  sir. 
Or  it'?:  'Mr.  Judd,  cahn't  yer  tell  us  w'ere  that  young 
Morland  lives?  Sure-ly  yer  know  summat  abaht  'im 


DIAMONDS  163 

or  yer  wouldn't  hev  paid  'is  bill.'  Oh,  it  'as  bin  a 
beano.  Hasn't  it,  Eliza?" 

"But  we  never  let  on  a  word,"  put  in  Mrs.  Judd. 
"We  was  close  as  wax.  We  told  none  of  'em  as  how 
Mr.  Judd  went  to  'Olloway  that  night,  did  we,  Will- 
yum?" 

"Not  us.  Ye  see,  I  took  a  fancy  to  ye.  If  ahr  little 
Johnnie  'ad  lived  'e'd  ha'  bin  just  your  ige.  Fifteen, 
aren't  ye  ?" 

At  last  Philip  got  him  persuaded  to  summon  his 
neighbor.  Judd  did  so  with  an  air  of  mystery  that 
caused  the  bald-headed  restaurateur  to  believe  that  a 
burglar  was  bottled  up  in  the  greengrocer's  cellar. 

Once  inside  the  shop,  however,  Mr.  Judd's  manner 
changed. 

"Wot  did  I  tell  yer,  Tomkins?"  he  cried,  elatedly. 
"Wot  price  me  as  a  judge  of  karak-ter!  'Ere's  Mr. 
Morland  come  back  to  p'y  me  that  ninepence.  Eh, 
Tomkins!  'Oo's  right  now,  old  cock?" 

Philip  solemnly  counted  out  the  money,  which  he 
handed  to  his  delighted  backer. 

"There  was  a  bet,  too,"  he  said. 

"Ra-ther !"  roared  Judd.  "Two  bob,  w'ich  I've  pide. 
Out  wi'  four  bob,  Tomkins.  Lord  lumme,  I'll  stand 
treat  at  the  George  for  this !" 

"There's  something  funny  in  the  kise,"  growled  Tom- 
kins,  as  he  unwillingly  produced  a  couple  of  florins. 

"I  was  sure  you  would  see  the  joke  at  once,"  said 
Philip.  "Good-by,  Mr.  Judd.  Goocl-by,  ma'am.  You 
will  hear  from  rne  without  fail  within  a  fortnight." 

He  was  gone  before  they  realized  his  intention.  They 
saw  him  skip  rapidly  up  the  steps  leading  into  Holborn, 


1 64  THE  KING  OF 

and  London  had  swallowed  him  forever  so  far  as  they 
were  concerned. 

Ten  days  later  a  firm  of  solicitors  wrote  to  the 
greengrocer  to  inform  him  that  a  client  of  theirs  had 
acquired  the  freehold  of  his  house  and  shop,  which 
property,  during  the  life  of  either  himself  or  his  wife, 
would  be  tenantable  free  of  rent,  rates  or  taxes. 

So  Mr.  Judd's  investment  of  ninepence,  plus  the 
amount  expended  on  eatables  at  the  Royal  Star  Hotel, 
secured  to  him  and  his  wife  an  annual  revenue  of  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds. 

And  Tomkins  never  heard  the  last  of  it 


DIAMONDS  165 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Close  of  One  Epoch. 

Before  retiring  to  rest,  Philip  ascertained  Mr.  Abing- 
don's  London  address,  and  wrote  asking  for  an  ap 
pointment  the  following  evening. 

He  also  interviewed  the  manager. 

"I  want  the  help  of  a  thoroughly  reliable  solicitor," 
he  said.  "I  wish  to  purchase  some  property — not  val 
uable  property,  but  of  importance  to  me.  Can  you  give 
me  the  address  of  some  one  known  to  you?" 

M.  Foret  named  a  reputable  firm  in  the  locality. 

"They  may  refer  to  yon,"  added  Philip.  "Of  course, 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  say  more  than  that  I  am  staying 
here,  but  the  point  is,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  mention  my 
age." 

"Will  you  not  see  them,  then?" 

"No.  I  will  endeavor  to  conduct  the  whole  busi 
ness  by  post." 

The  manager  laughed. 

"You  certainly  are  the  coolest  young  gentleman  I 
ever  met.  However,  Mr.  Amson,  it  may  please  you 
to  know  that  your  bank  gave  you  the  best  of  recom 
mendations.  I  will  say  so  to  anybody." 

So  Philip  first  drafted  and  then  copied  the  following 
letter : 

"DEAR  SIRS:  M.  Foret,  of  this  hotel,  has  given  me 
your  names  as  a  firm  likely  to  transact  certain  nego 
tiations  for  me.  I  want  to  purchase  a  small  property 
in  the  Mile  End  Road,  known  as  Johnson's  Mews ;  also 


166  THE  KING  OF 

a  shop  near  the  entrance  to  the  mews,  tenanted  by  a 
marine-store  dealer  named  O'Brien.  The  mews  is 
owned  by  the  Cardiff  and  Havre  Coal  Company,  Ltd. 
1  do  not  know  who  owns  the  shop.  I  wish  to  acquire 
these  properties  for  a  philanthropic  purpose,  but  I  arn 
most  desirous  that  my  name  should  not  figure  in  the 
transaction.  I  propose,  therefore,  when  you  have  ascer 
tained  the  price,  which  should  be  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  to  pay  to  your  credit  the  requisite  amount. 
You  can  have  the  properties  transferred  to  any  nominee 
you  choose,  and  again  transferred  to  me.  Kindly  add 
your  costs,  etc.,  to  the  purchase  price.  My  movements 
are  somewhat  uncertain,  so  please  send  all  communica 
tions  by  letter.  It  will  be  an  obligation,  and  lead  to 
future  business,  if  you  attend  to  this  matter  to-morrow 
morning.  Yours  faithfully,  PHILIP  ANSON." 

He  did  not  compose  this  letter  without  considerable 
trouble.  The  "philanthropic  purpose"  he  had  already 
decided  upon,  but  he  thought  it  was  rather  clever  to 
refer  to  the  possibilities  of  "future  business." 

As  for  the  double  transfer,  he  distinctly  remembered 
copying  letters  dealing  with  several  such  transactions 
at  the  time  of  the  coal  company's  conversion  into  a 
limited  liability  concern. 

He  was  early  to  bed,  and  his  rest  was  not  disturbed 
by  dreams.  He  rose  long  before  the  ordinary  residents. 
Deferring  his  breakfast,  he  walked  to  Fleet  Street  and 
purchased  copies  of  morning  and  evening  papers  for 
the  whole  of  the  week. 

He  could  thus  enjoy  the  rare  luxury  of  seeing  him 
self  as  others  saw  him.  He  read  the  perfervid  de 
scriptions  of  the  scene  in  court,  and  found  himself 
variously  described  as  "pert,"  "masterful,"  "imperious," 
"highly  intelligent,"  "endowed  with  a  thin  veneer  of 
education,"  and  "affected." 


DIAMONDS  167 

Philip  could  afford  to  laugh  at  the  unfavorable 
epithets.  Up  to  the  age  of  thirteen,  he  had  been  trained 
in  a  first-rate  lycee,  and  his  work  was  supervised  by 
his  mother,  a  woman  of  very  great  culture.  He  spoke 
French  as  well  as  English,  and  spoke  both  admirably. 
He  knew  some  Greek  and  Latin,  was  well  advanced  in 
arithmetic,  and  had  a  special  penchant  for  history  and 
geography. 

It  was  in  the  glowing  articles  which  appeared  during 
his  imprisonment  that  he  took  the  keenest  interest. 
Oddly  enough,  one  ingenious  correspondent  blundered 
onto  a  clew.  Gifted  with  an  analytical  mind,  he  had 
reasoned  that  the  diamond-laden  meteor  fell  during  the 
extraordinary  storm  of  the  nineteenth,  and  the  Meteor 
ological  Department  in  Victoria  Street  helped  him  by 
describing  the  center  of  the  disturbance  as  situated 
somewhat  to  the  east  of  the  London  Hospital. 

This  writer  had  actually  interviewed  a  member  of 
the  staff  of  that  institution  who  amused  himself  by 
noting  barometrical  vagaries.  His  instrument  re 
corded  an  extraordinary  increase  of  pressure  soon  after 
ten  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  storm. 

"Alas !"  added  the  scribe,  "it  did  not  indicate  where 
the  meteor  fell,  and  not  a  policeman,  'bus  driver  or  rail 
way  official  can  be  found  who  observed  anything  be 
yond  a  phenomenal  electrical  display  and  a  violent 
downpour  of  rain." 

That  was  too  close  to  be  pleasant,  and  Philip  was 
glad  to  hear  from  M.  Foret  that  the  solicitors,  after 
telephoning  to  ask  for  some  particulars  concerning  Mr. 
Anson,  were  giving  prompt  attention  to  his  instruc 
tions. 

"What  did  you  tell  them?"  asked  Philip. 


1 68  THE  KING  OF 

"I  said  that  you  impressed  me  as  the  kind  of  young 
gentleman  who  would  pay  well  for  services  given  un 
sparingly." 

"Did  that  satisfy  them  ?" 

"Perfectly.  Such  clients  do  not  abound  in  these 
hard  times." 

Three  hours  later,  a  letter  came  for  "Philip  Anson, 
Esq.,"  by  hand.  It  was  from  the  solicitors,  and  read: 

"We  are  in  receipt  of  your  esteemed  instructions. 
Although  Saturday  is  a  day  on  which  it  is  difficult  to 
do  business,  we  lost  no  time  in  inspecting  the  premises 
in  the  Mile  End  Road,  accompanied  by  a  surveyor. 
We  found  that  the  mews  stand  approximately  on  an 
area  of  three  thousand  two  hundred  superficial  feet, 
while  the  shop  tenanted  by  O'Brien  has  a  frontage  on 
the  main  road  of  eighteen  feet,  with  a  probable  depth  of 
thirty  or  thirty-five  feet.  The  owner  of  this  shop  is  a 
resident  in  the  neighborhood,  and  he  will  accept  four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  the  freehold. 

"We  were  fortunate  in  finding  the  managing  director 
of  the  Cardiff  and  Havre  Coal  Company,  Ltd.,  at  his 
office.  Although  the  company  require  the  mews  for  the 
purpose  of  a  depot,  they  are  not  unwilling  to  sell,  with 
a  stipulation  that  the  premises  shall  not  be  used  by 
any  competing  company  during  a  period  of  twenty 
years  from  the  date  of  transfer.  We  stated  that  the 
site  was  required  for  a  philanthropic  purpose,  but  the 
latter  stipulation  is  insisted  on.  The  price  asked  is 
two  thousand  two  hundred  pounds,  which  we  consider 
excessive,  there  being  a  very  inadequate  approach. 
Moreover,  we  wish  to  point  out  that  O'Brien's  shop 
does  not  adjoin  the  mews,  and  it  would  be  necessary 
to  purchase  two  other  houses  to  make  the  entire  prop 
erty  a  compact  one. 

"However,  adhering  to  the  letter  of  your  instruc 
tions,  we  have  pleasure  in  informing  you  that  the  twro 
properties  can  be  acquired  with  very  little  delay,  for 


DIAMONDS  169 

two  thousand  six  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  The  legal 
and  other  charges  will  not  exceed  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  We  trust,  etc." 

Philip  immediately  wrote: 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  by  your  promptitude  in  the 
matter  of  Johnson's  Mews  and  the  shop.  I  inclose 
check  herewith  for  two  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds. 
The  purchase  of  the  other  houses  can  stand  over  for 
a  few  days." 

This  he  dispatched  by  special  messenger,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  held  a  formal  receipt. 

A  telegram  came  for  him.  It  was  from  Mr.  Abing- 
don. 


"Can  see  you  after  six  at  my  house. 


Then  Philip  enjoyed  his  first  real  breathing  space 
during  hours  of  daylight.  He  went  by  train  to  the 
cemetery  in  which  his  mother  was  buried,  carrying 
with  him  a  beautiful  wreath. 

It  was  a  remarkable  fact  that  this  was  the  first  visit 
he  had  paid  to  her  grave.  During  the  days  of  misery 
and  partial  madness  which  followed  her  death  he  never 
lost  the  delusion  that  her  spirit  abided  with  him  in  the 
poor  dwelling  they  called  "home." 

Hence,  the  narrow  resting  place  beneath  the  green 
turf  in  no  way  appealed  to  him.  But  now,  that  a  suc 
cession  of  extraordinary  external  events  had  restored 
the  balance  of  his  mind,  he  realized  that  she  was  really 
dead  and  buried ;  that  what  he  revered  as  her  spirit  was 
in  truth  a  fragrant  memory ;  that  he  would  be  nearest 
to  her  mortal  remains  when  standing  in  the  remote 
corner  of  the  burial  ground  allotted  to  the  poorest  of 


i/o  THE  KING  OF 

the  poor — those  removed  by  one  degree  from  pauper- 
dom  and  a  parish  grave. 

It  happened,  by  mere  chance,  that  since  Mrs.  An- 
son's  funeral  no  one  had  been  interred  on  one  side  of 
the  small  space  purchased  for  her.  There  were  three 
vacant  plots  here,  and  a  surprised  official  told  Philip 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  acquiring  these  for  the 
purpose  of  erecting  a  suitable  monument. 

The  boy  filled  in  the  necessary  forms  there  and  then. 
It  was  some  consolation  to  know  that  he  could  per 
petuate  her  memory  in  this  way,  though  he  had  formu 
lated  another  project  which  should  keep  her  name  re 
vered  through  the  ages. 

On  the  site  of  Johnson's  Mews  should  arise  the  Mary 
Anson  Home  for  Destitute  Boys.  He  would  build  a 
place  where  those  who  were  willing  to  work  and  learn 
would  be  given  a  chance,  and  not  driven,  starving  and 
desperate,  to  pick  up  an  existence  in  the  gutter. 

He  was  too  young  to  devise  all  the  details  of  such  a 
splendid  institution,  but  he  had  got  the  idea  and  would 
possess  the  money.  He  would  leave  the  practical  part 
of  the  undertaking  to  older  heads. 

The  one  essential  feature  was  that  generations  yet 
unborn  should  learn  to  love  and  honor  the  name  of 
Mary  Anson.  Provided  that  were  achieved,  he  knew 
the  work  would  be  successful. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  cemetery  he  came  face  to  face 
with  Bradley,  the  policeman,  who  was  in  plain  clothes, 
and  walking  with  a  lady,  obviously  Mrs.  Bradley,  judg 
ing  by  the  matronly  manner  in  which  she  wheeled  a 
perambulator  containing  a  chubby  infant. 

"Well,  I'm  blowed!"  cried  the  policeman,  "who 
would  have  thought  of  meeting  you!  I  looked  in  at 


DIAMONDS  171 

the  mews  last  night,  but  you  had  gone.  Some  one  is 
looking  after  you  pretty  well ;  eh  ?" 

He  cast  a  patronizing  eye  over  Philip's  garments, 
which  were,  of  course,  considerably  smarter  in  appear 
ance  than  those  in  which  the  constable  had  seen  him 
on  Thursday  evening. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.     "I  am  in  good  hands  now." 

"They  haven't  given  you  a  watch  ?"    This  anxiously. 

"No.    I  am  watchless." 

"That's  right.  You'll  have  one  soon.  The  inspector 
has  your  address.  By  the  way,  he  wants  to  know  your 
Christian  name." 

"Philip." 

"Thanks.    I  won't  forget." 

Philip  raised  his  hat  and  took  the  quickest  route  west 
ward.  He  did  not  count  on  being  recognized  so  easily. 

Mr.  Abingdon  received  him  with  some  degree  of 
reserve.  The  magistrate  could  not  understand  the  re 
ceipt  of  a  letter  bearing  the  address  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Hotel,  a  place  where  he  had  been  entertained  at  dinner 
occasionally  by  one  of  his  wealthy  friends,  but  which 
was  far  removed  from  the  limit  imposed  on  the  pocket 
of  any  man  whose  resources  depended  on  the  exercise 
of  an  ordinary  profession. 

But  Philip  still  figured  in  his  mind  as  a  ragged  ur 
chin.  Not  even  the  skil/ed  police  magistrate  could  pic 
ture  him  as  the  actual  owner  of  millions  of  pounds 
worth  of  portable  property.  Hence,  the  boy's  appear 
ance  now  told  in  his  favor.  Cursory  impressions  soon 
yielded  to  positive  bewilderment  when  Philip  began 
to  relate  his  story  faithfully  from  beginning  to  end, 
neither  exaggerating  nor  suppressing  any  salient  detail 


1 72  THE  KING  OF 

save  the  actual  locality  where  his  astounding  adven 
tures  found  their  center  and  genesis. 

Mr.  Abingdon  did  not  doubt  for  one  moment  that 
the  boy  was  telling  the  truth.  The  romance  of  his 
narrative  was  far  beyond  fiction. 

Philip  himself  grew  enthusiastic  as  he  went  on.  His 
brown  eyes  blazed  again  with  the  memory  of  his  wrath 
and  shame  at  the  arrest.  He  told  the  magistrate  ex 
actly  how  the  proceedings  in  court  had  affected  him, 
and  gave  a  vivid  picture  of  his  bargaining  with  Isaac- 
stein,  the  packing  of  the  diamonds,  the  fight  between 
the  policeman  and  a  burglar,  his  interviews  with  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and  the  ruses  he  had 
adopted  to  preserve  his  secret. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  transaction  which  secured  for 
him  the  ownership  of  the  mews  itself.  He  read  copies 
of  his  letters  to  the  solicitors,  and  their  replies,  and 
then,  of  course,  the  magistrate  knew  where  the  meteor 
had  fallen. 

"That  is  a  very  clever  move  on  your  part,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "It  invests  you  with  all  the  rights  and  usages 
of  that  particular  piece  of  earth,  and  effectually  stops 
anyone  from  disputing  )^our  possession  of  the  meteor. 
How  did  you  come  to  think  of  it  ?" 

"You  put  the  idea  into  my  mind,  sir,"  said  Philip, 
modestly. 

"I?    In  what  manner?" 

"You  hinted,  at  our  last  meeting,  that  some  one 
might  lay  claim  to  my  diamonds  on  the  ground  that 
they  had  fallen  on  their  property.  I  do  not  intend  that 
anyone  living,  except  yourself,  shall  ever  know  the  his 
tory  of  my  meteor,  but  I  thought  it  best  to  buy  the 
place  outright  in  the  first  instance,  and  then  devote  it 


DIAMONDS  173 

to  a  charity  which  I  intend  to  found  in  memory  of  my 
mother." 

Mr.  Abingdon  smiled  again. 

"Your  confidence  is  very  flattering,"  he  said.  "I 
suppose  you  took  up  your  quarters  at  the  Pall  Mall 
Hotel  in  order  to  impress  people  with  your  importance 
and  secure  instant  compliance  with  your  wishes?" 

"That  was  my  motive,  sir." 

"Then,  my.  young  millionaire,  in  what  way  do  you 
wish  me  to  serve  you?  Of  course,  you  have  not  sought 
this  interview  and  told  me  your  story  so  unreservedly 
without  an  ulterior  object  in  view?  You  see,  I  am 
beginning  to  understand  you  already  a  little  better  than 
when  we  first  met." 

Philip  did  not  reply  immediately.  He  did  not  want 
to  risk  a  refusal,  and  he  was  not  yet  quite  sure  that  the 
magistrate  fully  comprehended  the  extent  of  the  for 
tune  which  had  been  showered  on  him  from  nature's 
own  mint. 

"When  Mr.  Isaacstein  returns  from  Amsterdam  he 
will  pay  me  something  like  forty  thousand  pounds," 
he  said. 

"Yes.  It  would  seem  so  from  the  receipt  you  have 
shown  me." 

"That  will  be  determined  on  Wednesday  next  at 
the  latest." 

"Yes." 

"If  the  money  is  forthcoming  it  will  be  proof  posi 
tive  that  my  diamonds  are  of  good  quality,  and,  as  I 
picked  up  these  dirty  stones  quite  promiscuously,  it  fol 
lows  that  the  others  are  of  the  same  standard  ?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Well,  Mr.  Abingdon,  I  can  form  no  estimate  of 


174  THE  KING  OF 

their  collective  value,  but  they  must  be  worth  many 
millions.  According  to  Mr.  Isaacstein's  views,  I  will 
be  able  to  command  a  revenue  of  between  a  quarter 
and  half  a  million  sterling  per  annum." 

"It  is  marvelous,  perfectly  appalling  in  some  senses," 
cried  the  perturbed  lawyer,  throwing  up  his  hands  in 
the  extremity  of  his  amazement. 

"You  are  right,  sir.  I  am  only  a  boy,  and  the  thing 
is  beyond  my  powers.  I  can  see  quite  clearly  that  while 
I  ought  to  be  at  college  obtaining  a  proper  education, 
I  will  be  worrying  about  the  care  of  great  sums  of 
money.  I  do  not  know  anything  about  investments. 
How  should  I  ?  Isaacstein  is  a  Jew,  and  he  will  proba 
bly  endeavor  very  soon  to  get  the  better  of  me  in  the 
necessary  business  transactions.  How  can  I  stop  him  ? 
I  have  no  older  relatives,  no  friends  whom  I  can  trust. 
For  some  reason,  I  do  feel  that  I  can  have  faith  in  you. 
Will  you  take  charge  of  my  affairs,  advise  me  during 
the  next  few  years,  tell  me  how  to  act  as  my  mother 
would  have  told  me — in  a  word,  become  my  guard 
ian?" 

For  a  little  while  Mr.  Abingdon  was  silent.  When 
words  came  he  could  only  gasp : 

"You  certainly  are  the  most  extraordinary  boy  I 
have  ever  encountered." 

Then  Philip  laughed  merrily. 

"I  don't  think,  sir,  that  I  am  so  much  an  extraor 
dinary  boy  as  a  boy  who  has  been  pitchforked  into  an 
extraordinary  position.  I  hope  most  sincerely  that  you 
will  do  what  I  ask.  If  I  may  say  so  without  presump 
tion,  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  you.  I  suppose  a  man 
who  looks  after  millions  of  money  is  entitled  to  a  vastly 


DIAMONDS  175 

bigger  income  than  one  who  sits  hours  in  a  police  court 
dealing  with  offenses  against  the  law." 

"Such  has  certainly  been  my  experience,"  said  the 
magistrate,  who  appreciated  the  nice  manner  in  which 
Philip  hinted  at  a  good,  fat  salary  for  controlling  the 
estate  of  the  King  of  Diamonds. 

"Then  you  agree,"  cried  Philip,  joyously. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  youthful  friend.  Even  a  police 
magistrate  must  bow  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Abingdon 
would  never  forgive  me  if  I  took  such  an  important 
step  without  consulting  her.  Will  you  remain  to  din 
ner?" 

Then  Philip  knew  that  he  had  gained  his  point. 
Nothing  was  said  before  the  servants,  but  when  they 
were  cozily  ensconced  in  the  library  before  a  pleasant 
fire,  he  was  asked  to  relate  again  his  entrancing  his 
tory  for  Mrs.  Abingdon's  benefit. 

That  good  lady  was  overwhelmed.  She,  like  every 
body  else,  had  read  the  newspapers,  and,  of  course, 
had  the  additional  benefit  of  her  husband's  views  on 
the  subject  of  the  unkempt  boy  with  his  small  parcel 
of  valuable  gems. 

But  the  presence  of  Philip  under  their  roof,  the 
glamour  of  the  tale  as  it  fell  from  his  lips,  cast  a  spell 
over  her.  She  was  a  kindly  soul,  too,  and  tears  gath 
ered  in  her  eyes  at  some  portions  of  the  recital. 

"What  a  pity  it  is  that  your  mother  died,"  she  mur 
mured,  when  he  had  ended. 

The  words  endeared  her  to  Philip  instantly.  A 
worldly,  grasping  woman  would  have  thought  of  noth 
ing  save  the  vista  of  wealth  opened  up  for  her  hus 
band  and  herself.  Not  so  Mrs.  Abingdon.  If  any 
thing,  she  was  somewhat  afraid  of  the  responsibilities 


176  THE  KING  OF 

proposed  to  be  undertaken  by  her  spouse,  to  whom  she 
was  devoted. 

The  magistrate  did  not  promise  definitely  that  night 
to  accept  the  position  offered  to  him.  He  would  think 
over  the  matter.  He  could  retire  on  a  pension  at  any 
time.  This  he  would  now  do  without  delay,  and  Philip 
could  certainly  count  on  his  friendship  and  advice, 
while  his  house  would  always  be  open  to  him. 

Meanwhile,  he  would  give  one  word  of  advice — in 
trust  no  human  being  with  the  power  to  sign  any  bind 
ing  document  without  his — Philip's — consent.  Then 
it  would  be  difficult  for  anyone  to  deal  unscrupulously 
•with  him. 

The  boy  went  away  at  a  late  hour.  He  left  behind 
him  an  exceedingly  perplexed  couple,  but  he  felt  that 
when  Mr.  Abingdon  had  time  to  assimilate  the  facts, 
and  realize  the  great  scope  of  the  work  before  him, 
there  was  little  doubt  he  would  gladly  associate  himself 
with  it. 

At  the  hotel  a  telegram  awaited  him  : 

"Have  realized  for  fifty-two  thousand.  Returning 
Monday.  ISAACSTEIN." 

Here  was  the  final  proof,  if  proof  were  wanting. 
Philip  was  a  millionaire  many  times  over. 


DIAMONDS  177 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

After  Long  Tears. 

A  tall,  strongly  built  man,  aged  about  forty-five,  but 
looking  older,  by  reason  of  his  grizzled  hair  and  a 
face  seamed  with  hardship — a  man  whose  prominent 
eyes  imparted  an  air  of  alert  intelligence  to  an  other 
wise  heavy  and  brutal  countenance,  disfigured  by  a 
broken  nose,  stood  on  the  north  side  of  the  Mile  End 
Road  and  looked  fixedly  across  the  street  at  a  fine 
building  which  dwarfed  the  mean  houses  on  either 
hand. 

He  had  no  need  to  ask  what  it  was.  Carved  in  stone 
over  the  handsome  arch  which  led  to  an  interior  cov 
ered  court  was  its  title — "The  Mary  Anson  Home  for 
Destitute  Boys."  A  date  followed,  a  date  ten  years  old. 

The  observer  was  puzzled.  He  gazed  up  and  down 
the  wide  thoroughfare  with  the  manner  of  one  who 
asked  himself: 

"Now,  why  was  that  built  there?" 

A  policeman  strolled  leisurely  along  the  pavement, 
but  to  him  the  man  addressed  no  question.  Apparently 
unconscious  of  the  constable's  observant  glance,  he  still 
continued  to  scrutinize  the  great  pile  of  brick  and  stone 
which  thrust  its  splendid  campanile  into  the  warm  sun 
shine  of  an  April  day. 

Beneath  the  name  was  an  inscription: 

"These  are  they  which  passed  through  great  tribula 
tion." 


178  THE  KING  OF 

A  queer  smile  did  not  improve  the  man's  expression 
as  he  read  the  text. 

"Tribulation !  That's  it,"  he  continued.  "I've  had 
ten  years  of  it.  And  it  started  somewhere  about  the 
end  of  that  fine  entrance,  too.  I  wonder  where  Sailor 
is,  and  that  boy.  He's  a  man  now,  mebbe  twenty-six 
or  so,  if  he's  alive.  Oh,  I  hope  he's  alive !  I  hope  he's 
rich  and  healthy  and  engaged  or  married  to  a  nice, 
young  woman.  If  I've  managed  to  live  in  hell  for  ten 
long  years,  a  youngster  like  him  should  be  able  to  pull 
through  with  youth  and  strength  and  a  bag  full  of 
diamonds." 

Without  turning  his  head,  he  became  aware  that  the 
policeman  had  halted  at  some  little  distance. 

"Of  course,  I've  got  the  mark  on  me,"  said  the  man, 
savagely,  to  himself.  "He's  spotted  me,  all  right. 
Well,  I'll  let  him  see  I  don't  care  for  him  or  any  of 
his  breed.  I  never  did  care,  and  it's  too  late  to  begin 
now." 

He  crossed  the  road,  passed  between  two  fine,  iron 
gates  standing  hospitably  open,  and  paused  at  the  door 
of  the  porter's  lodge,  where  a  stalwart  commissionaire 
met  him. 

"Have  you  called  to  see  one  of  the  boys?"  said  the 
official,  cheerfully. 

"No.  I'm  a  stranger.  It's  a  good  many  years  since 
I  was  in  these  parts  before.  In  those  days  there  used 
to  be  a  mews  here,  and  some  warehouses  at  the  back, 
with  a  few  old  shops — 

"Oh,  I  expect  so,  but  that  is  long  before  my  time. 
The  Mary  Anson  Home  was  founded  ten  years  ago, 
and  it  took  two  years  to  build.  It's  one  of  the  finest 
charities  in  London.  Would  you  like  to  look  round?*' 


DIAMONDS  179 

"Is  that  allowed?" 

"Certainly.  Everybody  is  welcome.  If  you  go  in  by 
that  side  door,  there,  you'll  find  an  old  man  who  has 
nothing  else  to  do  but  take  visitors  to  the  chief  de 
partments.  Bless  your  heart,  we  lose  half  our  board 
ers  that  way.  People  come  here,  see  the  excellences 
of  the  training  we  give,  and  offer  situations  to  boys  who 
are  old  enough." 

The  man  appeared  to  be  surprised  by  the  commis 
sionaire's  affability.  He  did  not  know  that  civility  and 
kindness  were  essential  there  if  any  employee  would 
retain  an  excellent  post. 

He  passed  on,  measuring  the  tessellated  court  with 
a  backward  sweep  of  the  eye.  In  the  sunlit  street  be 
yond  the  arch  stood  the  policeman.  The  visitor  grinned 
again,  an  unamiable  and  sulky  grin,  and  vanished. 

The  policeman  crossed  over. 

"What  is  that  chap  after?"  he  inquired. 

"Nothing  special,"  was  the  answer.  "Last  time  he 
was  here  the  place  was  a  mews,  he  said." 

"Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  he  has  a  ticket  in 
his  pocket." 

"You  don't  say!    Do  you  know  him?" 

"No.  I'll  look  him  up  in  the  album  in  the  station 
when  I  go  off  duty." 

"Well,  he  can't  do  any  harm  here.  O'Brien  takes 
visitors  over  a  regular  round,  and,  in  any  case,  the 
man  seemed  to  be  honest  enough  in  his  curiosity." 

"You  never  can  tell.  They're  up  to  all  sorts  of 
dodges." 

"Thanks  very  much.  I'll  ring  for  O'Brien's  relief 
and  tell  him  to  keep  an  eye  on  them,  as  the  old  man 
is  blind  as  a  bat," 


i8o  THE  KING  OF 

Meanwhile  the  stranger  was  being-  conducted  up  a 
wide  staircase  by  a  somewhat  tottering  guide,  who 
wore  on  the  breast  of  his  uniform  the  Crimean  and 
Indian  Mutiny  medals. 

As  he  hobbled  in  front,  he  told,  with  a  strong,  Irish 
brogue,  the  familiar  story  of  the  Mary  Anson  Home — 
how  it  fed,  lodged  and  clothed  six  hundred  boys  of 
British  parentage  born  in  the  Whitechapel  district ; 
how  it  taught  them  trades  and  followed  their  careers 
with  fostering  care ;  how  it  never  refused  a  meal  or  a 
warm  sleeping  place  to  any  boy,  no  matter  where  he 
came  from  or  what  his  nationality,  provided  he  satis 
fied  the  superintendent  that  he  was  really  destitute  or 
needed  his  small  capital  for  trading  purposes  next  day. 

The  great  central  hall  where  the  six  hundred  regular 
inmates  ate  their  meals,  the  dormitories,  the  play 
grounds,  the  drill  shed  and  gymnasium,  the  workshops, 
the  library,  the  theater,  were  all  pointed  out,  but  the 
big  man  with  the  staring  eyes  was  not  interested  one 
jot  in  any  of  tbese  things. 

"Who  was  Mary  Anson?"  he  asked,  when  the  well- 
worn  tale  was  ended,  "and  how  did  she  come  to  build 
such  a  fine  place  here  ?" 

"Ah,  ye  may  well  ax  that,"  said  old  O'Brien.  "Sure, 
she  didn't  build  it  at  all  at  all.  She  was  a  poor  widdy 
livin'  alone-st  wid  one  son,  Mr.  Philip  that  is  now. 
She  was  a  born  lady,  but  she  kem  down  in  the  worruld 
and  died,  forlorn  an'  forgotten,  in  a  little  shanty  in 
Johnson's  Mews,  as  it  was  called  in  those  days." 

"I  remember  it  well." 

"Ye  do,  eh?  Mebbe  ye  know  my  ould  shop,  the 
marine  store  near  the  entrance  to  the  court?" 

"Yes." 


DIAMONDS  181 

"Arrah,  ye  don't  tell  me  so.  Me  eyes  are  gettin' 
wake,  an'  I  can't  make  out  yer  face.  What's  yer 
name  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  afraid  we  didn't  know  one  another.  I  can't 
recall  your  name,  though  I  recollect  the  shop  well 
enough.  But,  if  Mrs.  Anson  died  so  poor,  how  was 
her  son  able  to  set  this  great  house  on  its  legs?  It 
must  have  cost  a  mint  of  money." 

"Faix,  ye're  right.  Quarter  of  a  million  wint  afore 
there  was  a  boy  under  its  roof.  And  they  say  it  costs 
fifty  thousand  pounds  a  year  to  keep  it  goin'.  But 
Mr.  Philip  would  find  that  and  more  to  delight  the 
sowl  of  the  mother  that's  dead.  Sure  it's  aisy  for 
him,  in  a  way.  Isn't  he  the  Diamond  King !" 

"The  Diamond  King !    Why  is  he  called  that  ?" 

"D'ye  mane  to  say  you  nivver Man  alive,  what 

part  of  creation  did  ye  live  in  that  ye  didn't  hear  tell 
of  Mr.  Philip  Anson,  the  boy  who  discovered  an  extra 
spishul  diamond  mine  of  his  own,  no  one  knows  where, 
Sure,  now,  what's  wrong  wid  ye?" 

For  the  visitor  was  softly  using  words  which  to 
O'Brien's  dull  ears  sounded  very  like  a  string  of  curses. 

"I'm  sorry,"  growled  the  other,  with  an  effort.  "I've 
been  to  Africa,  an'  I  get  such  a  spasm  now  an'  then 
in  my  liver  that  I  can  hardly  stand." 

"That's  no  way  to  cure  yourself — profanin'  the  name 
of  th'  Almighty,"  cried  O'Brien. 

"No.    I'm  sorry,  I  tell  you.    But  about  this  boy " 

"There's  no  more  to  see  now,  if  ye  plaze.  That's 
the  way  out." 

O'Brien  was  deeply  offended  by  the  language  used 
beneath  a  roof  hallowed  by  the  name  of  Mary  Anson. 
The  sightseer  had  to  go,  and  quickly.  Another  com- 


1 82  THE  KING  OF 

missionaire,  who  was  observing  them  from  a  distance, 
came  up  and  asked  O'Brien  what  the  stranger  was  talk 
ing  about. 

"Ye  nivver  heard  sich  a  blaggard,"  said  the  old  man, 
indignantly.  ''I  was  in  the  middle  of  tellin'  him  about 
Mr.  Philip,  when  he  began  to  curse  like  Ould  Nick 
himself." 

In  the  Mile  End  Road  the  rawboned  person  who 
betrayed  such  excitement  found  the  policeman  await 
ing  him.  He  sprang  onto  a  'bus,  and  purposely  glared 
at  the  officer  in  a  manner  to  attract  his  attention.  When 
at  a  safe  distance  he  put  his  fingers  to  his  nose.  The 
constable  smiled. 

"I  knew  I  was  right,"  he  said.  "I  don't  need  to 
look  twice  at  that  sort  of  customer." 

And  he  entered  the  Mary  Anson  Home  again  to  ask 
the  porter  what  had  taken  place. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  for  Jocky  Mason,  released 
from  Portland  Prison  on  ticket-of-leave,  after  serving 
the  major  portion  of  a  sentence  of  fourteen  years'  penal 
servitude — the  man  he  assaulted  had  died,  and  the  ex- 
convict  narrowly  escaped  being  hanged — to  ascertain 
the  salient  facts  of  Philip  Anson's  later  career. 

It  was  known  to  most  men.  He  was  biographed 
briefly  in  Who's  Who  and  had  often  supplied  material 
for  a  column  of  gossip  in  the  newspapers.  Every  free 
library  held  books  containing  references  to  him. 

It  was  quite  impossible  that  the  source  of  his  great 
wealth  should  remain  hidden  for  all  time.  In  one  way 
and  another  it  leaked  out,  and  he  became  identified 
with  the  ragged  youth  who  created  a  sensation  in  the 
dock  of  the  Clerkenwell  Police  Station. 

But  this  was  years  later,  and  the  clever  manipula- 


DIAMONDS  183 

tion  of  Mr.  Abingdon,  as  his  estate  agent,  and  of  Mr. 
Isaacstein,  as  his  representative  in  the  diamond  trade, 
completely  frustrated  all  attempts  to  measure  the  true 
extent  of  the  meteor's  value. 

For  now  Philip  owned  a  real  diamond  mine  in  South 
Africa ;  he  had  a  fine  estate  in  Sussex,  a  house  in  Park 
Lane,  a  superb  sea-going  yacht,  a  colliery  in  Yorkshire, 
and  vast  sums  invested  in  land  and  railways.  The 
latent  value  of  his  gems  had  been  converted  into  money- 
earning  capital. 

Mr.  Abingdon  proved  himself  to  be  a  very  able  busi 
ness  man.  When  the  administration  of  Philip's  rev 
enue  became  too  heavy  a  task  for  his  unaided  shoulders, 
he  organized  a  capital  estate  office,  with  well-trained 
lawyers,  engineers  and  accountants  to  conduct  its  va 
rious  departments,  while  he  kept  up  an  active  super 
vision  of  the  whole  until  Philip  quitted  his  university, 
and  was  old  enough  to  begin  to  bear  some  portion  of 
the  burden. 

They  agreed  to  differ  on  this  important  question. 
Philip  was  fond  of  travel  and  adventure.  With  great 
difficulty  his  "guardian"  kept  him  out  of  the  army, 
but  compromised  the  matter  by  allowing  the  young 
millionaire  to  roam  about  the  odd  corners  of  the  world 
in  his  yacht  for  eight  months  of  the  year,  provided  he 
spent  four  months  of  the  season  in  London  and  Sussex 
attending  to  affairs. 

In  this  month  of  April  he  was  living  in  his  town 
house.  In  July  he  would  go  to  Fairfax  Hall,  in  Au 
gust  to  Scotland,  and  a  month  later  would  joyfully  fly 
to  the  Forth,  where  the  Sea  Maiden  awaited  him. 

This  lady,  whose  waist  measured  eighteen  feet  across 
and  whose  length  was  seventy  feet,  with  a  fine  spread 


1 84  THE  KING  OF 

of  canvas  and  auxiliary  steam,  was  the  only  siren  able 
to  charm  him. 

He  was  tall  now,  and  strongly  built,  with  some 
thing  of  the  naval  officer  in  his  handsome,  resolute 
face  and  well  set-up  figure.  As  a  hobby,  he  had  taken 
out  a  master  mariner's  certificate,  and  he  could  navi 
gate  his  own  ship  in  the  teeth  of  an  Atlantic  gale.  He 
loved  to  surround  himself  with  friends,  mostly  Oxford 
men  of  his  year,  but  he  seldom  entertained  ladies,  either 
on  board  the  Sea  Maiden  or  in  either  of  his  two  fine 
mansions. 

He  avoided  society  in  its  general  acceptance,  refused 
all  overtures  to  mix  in  politics,  took  a  keen  delight  in 
using  his  great  wealth  to  alleviate  distress  anonymously, 
and  earned  a  deserved  reputation  as  a  "bear"  among 
the  few  match-making  mammas  who  managed  to  make 
his  acquaintance. 

In  other  respects,  as  the  boy  was  so  was  the  man 
— the  same  downright  character,  the  same  steadfast 
devotion  to  his  mother's  memory,  the  same  relentless 
adherence  to  a  course  already  decided  on,  and  the  same 
whole-hearted  reciprocity  of  friendship. 

As  he  stood  in  his  drawing  room  before  dinner  on 
the  evening  of  the  day  Jocky  Mason  re-visited  the 
locality,  if  not  the  surroundings,  of  his  capture,  Phil 
ip's  strong  face  wore  an  unwonted  expression  of  an 
noyance.  He  walked  to  and  fro  from  end  to  end  of 
the  beautiful  room,  pausing  each  time  he  reached  the 
window  to  gaze  out  over  the  park. 

A  servant,  who  entered  for  the  purpose  of  turning 
on  the  electric  lights  and  lowering  the  blinds,  was 
bidden,  almost  impatiently,  to  wait  until  Philip  and 
his  guests  were  at  dinner. 


DIAMONDS  185 

A  telegram  came.     Anson  opened  it  and  read : 

"Was  dressing  to  come  to  your  place  when  Grainger 
telegraphed  for  me  to  act  as  substitute  Lincoln  Quarter 
Sessions.  Must  go  down  at  once.  Fox." 

"No  answer,"  he  said,  adding,  to  himself: 

"That's  better.  Fox's  caustic  humor  would  have 
worried  me  to-night.  I  wish  Abingdon  would  come. 
I  am  eager  to  tell  him  what  has  happened." 

Now,  punctuality  was  one  of  Mr.  Abingdon's  many 
virtues.  At  half-past  seven  to  the  tick  his  brougham 
deposited  him  at  the  door. 

The  two  met  with  a  cordial  greeting  that  showed 
the  close  ties  of  mutual  good  fellowship  and  respect 
which  bound  them  together. 

"Fox  won't  be  here,"  said  Philip.  "Grainger  has 
broken  down — ill  health,  I  suppose — and  wired  for  him 
to  go  to  Lincoln." 

"Ah,  that's  a  lift  for  Fox.  He  is  a  clever  fellow, 
and  if  he  manages  to  tell  the  jury  a  joke  or  two  he 
will  influence  a  verdict  as  unfairly  as  any  man  I 
know." 

"Does  it  not  seem  to  you  to  be  rather  an  anomaly  that 
justice,  which  in  the  abstract  is  impeccable,  too  often 
depends  on  other  issues  which  have  no  possible  bearing 
on  the  merits  of  the  dispute  itself?" 

"My  dear  boy,  that  defect  will  continue  until  the 
crack  of  doom.  Pascal  laid  it  bare  in  an  epigram — 
'Plaisante  justice!  qu'nne  river e  on  line  montaigne 
borne!  Verite  au  deqa  du  Pyrenees,  erreur  an  dela!' 
It  all  depends  on  which  side  the  Pyrenees  Fox  happens 
to  be." 

"Unfortunately,  I  am  straddling  the  water  shed  at 


186  THE  KING  OF 

this  moment.  I  have  made  a  very  unpleasant  dis 
covery,  Abingdon,  and  I  am  glad  we  are  alone  to 
night — we  can  speak  freely.  Some  people  named 
Sharpe  &  Smith  wrote  to  me  yesterday." 

"I  know  them — an  old-established  firm  of  solicitors." 

"Well,  they  urged  me  to  give  them  an  appointment 
on  a  private  matter,  and  I  did  so.  They  began  by 
trying  to  cross-examine  me,  but  that  was  an  abject  fail 
ure.  Seeing  that  whatever  they  had  to  say  must  stand 
on  its  own  legs,  they  told  me  an  extraordinary  story. 
It  appears  that  at  a  place  called  The  Hall,  Beltham, 
Devon,  lives  an  elderly  baronet,  named  Sir  Philip  Mor- 
land." 

"Morland!    Philip  Morland !" 

"Ah,  you  remember  the  name!  It  was  given  to  a 
young  derelict  who  once  figured  in  the  dock  before 
you  on  a  charge  of  being  in  unlawful  possession " 

"The  matter  is  not  serious,  then?" 

"It  is  very  serious.  The  real  Philip  Morland  is  my 
uncle." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  learned  this  fact  for 
the  first  time  to-day  from  Sharpe  &  Smith?" 

Philip  laughed.  By  this  time  they  were  seated  at  the 
table,  and  their  talk  depended  to  a  certain  extent  on 
the  comings  and  goings  of  servants.  At  a  dinner  en 
famille,  the  presence  of  a  ponderous  butler  and  solemn 
lackeys  was  dispensed  with. 

"Oh,  you  lawyers !"  he  cried.  "That's  a  nice  sort 
of  leading  question.  But,  marvelous  as  it  may  seem 
to  you,  I  must  answer  'Yes.'  My  mother's  maiden 
name  was  Morland.  Her  brother  was  much  older 
than  she,  and  it  appears  the  dear  woman  married  to 
please  herself,  thereby  mortally  offending  the  baronet." 


DIAMONDS  187 

"Why  the  'offense'?" 

"Because  my  father's  social  position  was  not  equal 
to  that  of  the  aristocratic  Morlands.  Moreover,  her 
brother  had  an  accident  in  his  youth  which  rendered 
him  irritable  and  morose.  From  being-  a  pleasant 
sort  of  man ;  which,  indeed,  he  must  have  been  did 
he  share  aught  of  my  mother's  nature — he  grew  into 
a  misanthrope,  and  gave  his  life  to  the  classification 
of  Exmoor  beetles.  He  treated  my  mother  very  badly, 
so  vilely  that  even  she,  dear  soul,  during  her  married 
life  held  no  further  communication  with  him,  and  never 
mentioned  him  to  me  by  name.  Now,  one  day  on  Ex- 
moor  he  found  a  lady  who  also  was  devoted  to  beetles. 
At  least,  she  knew  all  that  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica 
could  teach  her.  She  was  a  poor  but  handsome  widow."' 

"Ah !" 

"It  is  delightful  to  talk  with  you,  Abingdon.  Your 
monosyllables  help  the  narrative  along.  Sir  Philip 
married  the  widow.  She  brought  him  a  son,  aged  five. 
There  were  no  children  born  of  my  uncle's  marriage." 

"Oh!" 

"When  poverty  overtook  my  dear  one,  she  so  far 
obliterated  a  cruel  memory  as  to  appeal,  not  once,  but 
many  times,  to  the  human  coleopterus  of  Exmoor,  but 
she  was  invariably  frozen  off  either  by  Lady  Louisa 
Morland  or  by  Messrs.  Sharpe  &  Smith." 

"Did  they  admit  this?" 

"By  no  means.  I  am  telling  you  the  facts.  I  am 
still  on  top  of  the  Pyrenees." 

"Then  how  did  you  ascertain  the  facts?" 

"I  have  in  my  possession  ever  since  my  mother's 
death  the  letters  they  wrote  to  her.  They  were  fresh 
in  my  memory  when  you  and  I  first  met  in  the  Clerken- 


1 88  THE  KING  OF 

well  Police  Court.     That  is  why  the  name  of  Philip 
Morland  was  glib  on  my  tongue." 

"So  I  have  only  heard  historical  events,  events  prior 
to  the  last  ten  years  ?" 

"Exactly.  My  uncle  is  now  sixty  years  of  age. 
Lady  Louisa  Morland's  son  is  twenty-four.  Her  lady 
ship's  whole  aim  in  life  has  been  to  secure  him  as  the 
baronet"s  heir.  The  title,  of  course,  he  cannot  obtain. 
But,  most  unfortunately,  he  has  no  penchant  for  beetles. 
Indeed,  Lady  Louisa's  researches  have  long  since  di 
minished  in  ardor.  Her  son's  interests  are  divided 
between  the  Sports  Club  and  the  coryphees  of  the  latest 
musical  comedy — moths  are  more  in  his  line,  appar 
ently.  My  uncle,  who  is  preparing  a  monograph  on 
the  fleas  which  patronize  Exmoor  wild  ponies,  came  to 
town  last  week  to  visit  the  British  Museum.  Unhap 
pily,  he  heard  something  about  his  stepson  which  dis 
turbed  his  researches.  There  was  a  row." 

"Why  do  you  say  'unhappily'  ?" 

"Because  I  am  dragged  into  the  wretched  business 
on  account  of  it.  After  a  lapse  of  more  than  twenty- 
five  years,  he  remembered  his  sister,  went  to  his  solici 
tors,  made  a  fearful  hubbub  when  he  heard  of  letters 
received  from  her  and  answered  without  his  knowledge, 
and  ascertained  that  she  was  dead,  and  had  a  son  living. 
)At  any  cost,  they  must  find  that  son.  They  have 
guessed  at  my  identity  for  some  time.  Now  they  want 
to  make  sure  of  it." 

"And  what  did  you  say?" 

"I  told  them  I  would  think  over  the  situation  and 
communicate  with  them  further." 

"Were  they  satisfied?" 

no  means.     They  are  exceedingly  anxious  to 


DIAMONDS  189 

placate  the  old  man.  They  probably  control  a  good 
deal  of  his  money." 

"Urn !" 

"Of  course!  You  see  the  delicacy  of  their  position. 
After  playing  into  the  hands  of  Lady  Louisa  for  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  they  suddenly  find  the  whole 
situation  changed  by  the  baronet's  belated  discovery 
that  he  once  had  a  sister." 

"You  have  not  told  me  all  this  without  a  purpose. 
Do  you  want  my  advice?" 

Philip's  face  was  clouded,  his  eyes  downcast. 

"You  understand,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "that 
some  one,  either  the  man  or  the  woman — the  woman, 
I  think — is  morally  responsible  for  my  mother's  death. 
She  was  poor — wretchedly,  horribly  poor — the  poverty 
of  thin  clothing  and  insufficient  food.  She  was  ill, 
confined  to  a  miserable  hovel  for  weary  months,  and 
was  so  utterly  unprovided  with  the  barest  necessaries 
that  the  parish  doctor  was  on  the  point  of  compelling 
her  to  go  to  the  workhouse  infirmary  when  death  came. 
Am  I  to  be  the  instrument  of  God's  vengeance  on  this 


woman 


Mr.  Abingdon,  who  had  risen  to  light  a  cigar,  placed 
a  kindly  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"Philip,"  he  said,  with  some  emotion,  "I  have  never 
yet  heard  you  utter  a  hasty  judgment.  You  have  pru 
dence  far  beyond  your  years.  It  seems  to  me,  speaking 
with  all  the  reverence  of  man  in  face  of  the  decrees  of 
Providence,  that  God  has  already  provided  a  terrible 
punishment  for  Lady  Louisa  Morland.  What  is  the 
name  of  her  son  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.    I  forgot  to  ask." 

"I  have  a  wide  experience  of  the  jeunesse  dorce  of 


I9o  THE  KING  OF 

London.  Hardly  a  week  passed  during  many  years  of 
my  life  that  one  of  his  type  did  not  appear  before  me 
in  the  dock.  What  is  he — a  roue,  a  gambler,  probably 
a  drunkard?" 

"All  these,  I  gathered  from  the  solicitors." 

"And  if  your  mother  were  living,  what  would  she 
say  to  Lady  Morland?" 

"She  would  pity  her  from  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
Yes,  Abingdon,  you  are  right.  My  uncle's  wife  has 
chosen  her  own  path.  She  must  follow  it,  let  it  lead 
where  it  will.  I  will  write  to  Messrs.  Sharpe  &  Smith 
now.  But  step  into  my  dressing  room  with  me  for 
a  moment,  will  you  ?" 

In  a  corner  of  the  spacious  apartment  to  which  he 
led  his  guest  stood  a  large  safe.  Philip  opened  it. 
Within  were  a  number  of  books  and  documents,  but 
in  a  large  compartment  at  the  bottom  stood  a  peculiar 
object  for  such  a  repository — an  ordinary,  leather  port 
manteau.  He  lifted  it  onto  a  couch  and  took  a  key  from 
a  drawer  in  the  safe. 

"This  is  one  of  my  treasures  which  you  have  never 
seen,"  he  said,  with  a  sorrowful  smile.  "It  has  not 
been  in  the  light  for  many  years." 

He  revealed  to  his  friend's  wondering  eyes  the  tat 
tered  suit,  the  slipshod  boots,  the  ragged  shirt  and  cap, 
the  rusty  doorkey,  associated  with  that  wonderful 
month  of  March  of  a  decade  earlier.  He  reverently 
unfolded  some  of  his  mother's  garments,  and  his  eyes 
were  misty  as  he  surveyed  them. 

But  from  the  pocket  of  the  portmanteau  he  produced 
a  packet  of  soiled  letters.  One  by  one  he  read  them 
aloud,  though  he  winced  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
agony  his  mother  must  have  endured  as  she  experi- 


DIAMONDS  191 

enced  each  rebuff  from  Lady  Morland  and  her  hus 
band's  solicitors. 

Yet  he  persevered  to  the  end. 

"I  wanted  a  model  for  a  brief  communication  to 
,  Messrs.  Sharpe  &  Smith,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "I  think 
the  general  purport  of  their  correspondence  will  serve 
my  needs  admirably." 

As  he  closed  the  Gladstone  bag  his  stern  mood  van 
ished. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  this  odd-looking  port 
manteau,  always  locked  and  always  reposing  in  a  safe, 
has  puzzled  my  valets  considerably?  One  man  got  it 
out  and  tried  to  open  it.  I  caught  him  in  the  act.  I 
honestly  believe  both  he  and  the  others  were  under  the 
impression  that  I  kept  my  diamonds  in  it." 

"By  the  way,  that  reminds  me  of  a  request  from 
Isaacstein.  As  all  the  smaller  diamonds  have  now 
been  disposed  of,  and  there  remain  only  the  large 
stones,  he  thinks  that  some  of  them  might  be  cut  into 
sections.  They  are  unmarketable  at  present." 

"Very  well.  Let  us  appoint  a  day  next  week  and 
overhaul  the  entire  collection.  I  intend  to  keep  the  big 
ones  to  form  the  center  ornaments  of  a  tiara,  a  neck 
lace,  and  gewgaws  of  that  sort." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  suppose  there  will  be  a  Mrs.  An- 
son  some  day,  but  I  have  not  found  her  yet." 

"  'Who'er  she  be, 
That  not  impossible  she, 
That  shall  command  my  heart  and  me.' " 

And  a  ripple  of  laughter  chased  away  the  last  shad 
ows  from  his  face. 


192  THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

An  Adventure. 

Mr.  Abingdon  took  his  departure  at  an  early  hour; 
his  excellent  wife  was  indisposed,  and  her  age  ren 
dered  him  anxious. 

Philip  wrote  a  curt  letter  to  Sharpe  &  Smith.  He 
had  given  thought  to  their  statements,  he  said,  and 
wished  to  hold  no  further  communication  with  either 
Sir  Philip  Morland  or  his  representatives. 

Then  he  ordered  his  private  hansom,  intending  to 
visit  the  Universities'  Club. 

It  was  a  fine  evening,  one  of  those  rare  nights  when 
blase  London  abandons  herself  for  an  hour  to  the  de 
lights  of  spring.  The  tops  of  omnibuses  passing 
through  Park  Lane  were  enlivened  by  muslin  dresses 
and  flower-covered  hats.  Men  who  passed  in  han 
soms  wore  evening  dress  without  an  overcoat.  Old 
earth  was  growing  again,  and  if  weather-wise  folk 
predicted  that  such  an  unusually  high  temperature 
meant  thunderstorms  and  showers  it  would  indeed  be 
a  poor  heart  that  did  not  rejoice  in  the  influences  of  the 
moment. 

Two  powdered  and  noiseless  footmen  threw  open 
the  door  as  Philip  appeared  in  the  hall.  He  stood  for 
a  little  while  in  the  entrance  buttoning  his  gloves.  A 
strong  electric  light — he  loved  light — fell  on  him  and 
revealed  his  firm  face  and  splendidly  proportioned 
frame. 


DIAMONDS  193 

He  cast  a  critical  eye  on  a  sleek  horse  in  the  shafts, 
and  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  driver. 

"Good  gracious,  Wale,"  he  said,  "your  cattle  are 
becoming  as  fat  as  yourself." 

"All  your  fault,  sir,"  was  the  cheerful  reply.  "You 
don't  use  'em  'arf  enough." 

"I  can't  pass  my  time  in  being  driven  about  town  to 
reduce  the  weight  of  my  coachman  and  horses.  Wale, 
if  you  don't  do  something  desperate,  there  will  be  an 
*h'  after  the  'w'  in  your  name." 

He  sprang  into  the  vehicle.  With  a  lively  "Kim 
up!"  Wale  got  his  stout  steed  into  a  remarkably  fast 
trot. 

A  tall  man,  who  had  been  loitering  and  smoking  be 
neath  the  trees  across  the  road  for  a  long  time,  saun 
tered  toward  a  tradesman's  cart  which  was  standing 
near  the  area  gate  of  the  next  house,  while  the  man  in 
charge  gossiped  with  a  kitchenmaid. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  said  to  the  couple,  "is  that  Mr. 
Philip  Anson's  place?"  with  an  indicatory  jerk  of  his 
thumb. 

"Yes,"  said  the  man. 

"An'  was  that  Mr.  Anson  himself  who  drove  away 
in  a  private  cab?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl. 

"Thanks.  It  does  one  good  to  see  a  young  chap 
like  him  so  jolly  and  comfortable,  and  provided  with 
everything  he  can  want  in  the  world ;  eh  ?" 

"I  wish  I  'ad  a  bit  of  'is  little  lot,"  sighed  the  green 
grocer's  assistant,  with  a  side  glance  at  the  maid. 

The  stranger  laughed  harshly. 

"It's  ford  to  say  when  ye're  well  off,"  he  growled. 


194  THE  KING  OF 

"Up  one  day  and  down  the  other.     You  never  know 
your  luck." 

Away  he  went,  southward.  His  long  vigil  on  the 
pavement  near  the  railings  seemed  to  have  ended.  In 
Piccadilly  he  took  an  omnibus  to  the  Circus,  and  there 
changed  to  another  for  the  Elephant  and  Castle. 

He  walked  rapidly  through  the  congeries  of  mean 
streets  which  lie  to  the  east  of  that  bustling  center,  and 
paused  at  last  before  a  house  which  was  occupied  by 
respectable  people,  judging  by  the  cleanly  curtains  and 
general  air  of  tidiness. 

He  knocked.  A  woman  appeared.  Did  Mrs.  Mason 
live  there  ?  No.  She  knew  nothing  of  her.  Had  only 
been  in  the  place  eighteen  months. 

The  man  evidently  appreciated  the  migratory  habits 
of  the  poor  too  well  to  dream  of  prosecuting  further 
inquiries  among  the  neighbors.  He  strolled  about, 
reading  the  names  over  the  small  shops,  the  corner 
public  house,  the  dressmakers'  semiprivate  residences. 

At  last  he  paused  before  a  somewhat  grim  establish 
ment,  an  undertaker's  office.  He  entered.  A  youth 
was  whistling  the  latest  music  hall  song. 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  a  Mrs.  Mason,  who  used 
to  live  in  this  locality  about  ten  years  ago?"  he  asked. 

"Mrs.  Mason?  There  may  be  forty  Mrs.  Masons. 
What  was  her  Christian  name  an'  address?" 

"Mrs.  Hannah  Mason,  14  Frederick  Street." 

The  youth  skillfully  tilted  back  his  stool  until  he 
reached  a  ledger  from  a  shelf  behind  him.  He  ran  his 
eye  down  an  index,  found  a  number,  and  pulled  out 
another  book. 

"We  buried  her  on  the  twentieth  of  November,  nine 


DIAMONDS  195 

years  since,"  he  said,  coolly,  rattling  both  tomes  back 
into  their  places. 

"You  did,  eh?  Is  there  anybody  here  who  remem 
bers  her?" 

Something  in  the  husky  voice  of  this  stark,  ill-favored 
man  caused  the  boy  to  become  less  pert. 

"Father's  in,"  he  said.     "I'll  ring  for  him." 

Father  came.  He  had  a  vague  memory  of  the  wom 
an,  a  widow  with  two  children — boys,  he  thought. 
Somebody  helped  her  in  her  last  days,  and  paid  for 
the  funeral — paid  cash,  according  to  the  ledger.  He 
did  not  know  who  the  friend  was,  nor  had  he  any 
knowledge  of  the  children's  fate.  Workhouse,  most 
probably.  What  workhouse?  Parish  of  Southwark. 
Easy  to  find.  Just  turn  so-and-so,  and  so-and-so. 

With  a  grunt  of  acknowledgment  the  inquirer  passed 
into  the  street.  He  gave  an  eye  to  the  public  house, 
but  resolutely  quickened  his  pace.  At  the  workhouse 
he  succeeded,  with  some  difficulty,  in  interviewing  the 
master.  It  was  after  office  hours,  but  as  he  had  jour 
neyed  a  long  way  an  exception  would  be  made  in  his 
case. 

Books  were  consulted  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  two 
boys,  John  and  William  Mason,  who  would  now  be 
aged  twenty  and  eighteen  respectively.  Youthful 
Masons  had  certainly  been  in  the  schools — one  was 
there  at  the  moment,  in  fact — but  none  of  them  an 
swered  to  the  descriptions  supplied.  The  workhouse 
master  was  sorry ;  the  records  gave  no  clew. 

Again  the  man  sought  the  dark  seclusion  of  the 
street.  He  wandered  slowly  toward  a  main  thorough 
fare,  and  entered  the  first  public  house  he  encountered. 


196  THE  KING  OF 

He  ordered  six  pennyworth  of  brandy,  and  drank  it 
at  a  gulp.    Then  he  lit  a  pipe  and  went  forth  again. 

"That  was  an  ugly-lookin'  customer,"  said  an  ha 
bitue  to  the  barman. 

"  'E  'ad  a  fice  like  a  fifth  act  at  the  Surrey,"  agreed 
the  other. 

If  they  knew  the  toast  that  Jocky  Mason  had  pledged 
so  readily,  they  would  have  better  grasped  the  truth  of 
this  unfavorable  diagnosis  of  his  character. 

"Ten  years'  penal  servitude,  four  years'  police  super 
vision,  my  wife  dead,  and  my  children  lost,  all  through 
a  smack  on  the  head  given  me  by  Philip  Anson,"  he 
communed.  "Here's  to  getting  even  with  him!" 

It  was  a  strange  outcome  of  his  long  imprisonment 
that  the  man  should  have  acquired  a  fair  degree  of 
culture.  He  was  compelled  to  learn  in  jail,  to  a  certain 
extent,  and  reading  soon  became  a  pleasure  to  him. 
Moreover,  he  picked  up  an  acquaintance  with  a  smooth 
spoken  mate  of  the  swell  mobsman  and  long  firm  order 
— a  dandy  who  strove  to  be  elegant  even  in  convict 
garb.  Mason's  great  strength  and  indomitable  courage 
appealed  to  the  more  artistic  if  more  effeminate  rogue ; 
once  the  big  man  saved  his  comrade's  life  when  they 
were  at  work  in  the  quarries. 

The  influence  was  mutual.  They  vowed  lasting 
friendship.  Victor  Grenier  was  released  six  months 
before  Mason,  and  the  latter  now  crossed  the  river 
again  to  go  to  an  address  where  he  would  probably 
receive  some  news  of  his  professed  ally's  whereabouts. 

Grenier's  name  was  imparted  under  inviolable  con 
fidence  as  that  which  he  would  adopt  after  his  release. 
His  real  name,  by  which  he  was  convicted,  was  some 
thing  far  less  aristocratic. 


DIAMONDS  197 

Philip's  driver,  being  of  the  peculiar  type  of  Lon 
doner  which  seems  to  be  created  to  occupy  the  dicky 
of  a  hansom,  did  not  take  his  master  down  Park  Lane, 
along  Piccadilly,  and  so  to  Pall  Mall.  He  loved  cor 
ners.  Give  him  the  remotest  chance  of  following  a 
zigzag  course,  and  he  would  follow  it  in  preference  to 
a  route  with  all  the  directness  of  a  Roman  road. 

Thus  it  happened,  as  he  spun  round  Carlos  Place 
into  Berkeley  Square,  he  nearly  collided  with  another 
vehicle  which  dashed  into  the  square  from  Davies 
Street. 

Both  horses  pulled  up  with  a  jerk,  there  was  a 
sharp  fusillade  of  what  cabmen  call  "langwidge,"  and 
the  other  hansom  drove  on,  having  the  best  of  the 
strategical  position  by  a  stolen  yard. 

Philip  lifted  the  trapdoor. 

"Has  he  a  fare,  Wale?" 

"Yes,  sir,  a  lydy." 

"Oh.  Leave  him  alone,  then.  Otherwise,  I  would 
have  liked  to  see  you  ride  him  off  at  the  corner  of 
Bruton  Street." 

Wale,  who  was  choleric,  replied  with  such  force  that 
Philip  tried  to  say,  sternly : 

"Stop  that  swearing,  Wale." 

"Beg  pawdon,  sir,  Pm  sure,  but  I  wouldn't  ha' 
minded  if  it  wasn't  my  own  old  keb.  Didn't  you  spot 
it?" 

"You  don't  tell  me  so.    How  odd !" 

"And  to  think  of  a  brewer's  drayman  like  that  gettin' 
'old  of  it.  Well- 
Wale  put  the  lid  on  in  case  his  employer  might 
hear  any  more  of  his  sentiments. 

Philip,  leaning  back  to  laugh,  for  Wale's  vocabulary 


198  THE  KING  OF 

was  amusing,  if  not  fit  for  publication,  suddenly  real 
ized  the  queer  trick  that  even  the  events  in  the  life 
of  an  individual  have  of  repeating  themselves. 

In  one  day,  after  an  interval  of  many  years,  he  had 
been  suddenly  confronted  by  personages  connected  with 
the  period  of  his  sufferings,  with  the  very  garments 
he  wore  at  that  time,  with  the  cab  in  which  he  drove 
from  Clerkenwell  to  Hatton  Garden.  Abingdon  had 
dined  with  him;  Isaacstein  had  sent  him  a  message; 
his  driver,  even,  was  the  cabman  who  made  him  a 
present  of  two  shillings,  a  most  fortunate  transaction 
for  Wale,  as  it  led  to  his  selection  to  look  after  Philip's 
London  stable. 

All  who  had  befriended  the  forlorn  boy  in  those 
early  days  had  benefited  to  an  extraordinary  degree. 
The  coffee-stall  keeper  who  gave  him  coffee  grounds 
and  crusts,  the  old  clothes  man  who  cut  down  the  price 
of  his  first  outfit,  Mrs.  Wrigley,  going  hopelessly  to 
her  toil  in  a  Shepherd's  Bush  laundry;  Mr.  Wilson, 
of  Grant  &  Sons,  the  kindly  jeweler  of  Ludgate  Hill, 
were  each  sought  out,  and  either  placed  in  a  good  busi 
ness  or  bounteously  rewarded  for  the  services  they  had 
rendered.  O'Brien,  of  course,  was  found  a  sinecure 
office  at  the  Mary  Anson  Home. 

As  for  the  doctor,  he  owed  his  Harley  Street  prac 
tice  to  the  millionaire's  help  and  patronage. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  Philip  never  wore  a  watch 
other  than  that  presented  to  him  by  the  police  of  the 
Whitechapel  Division. 

It  was  an  ordinary  English  silver  lever,  and  he  car 
ried  it  attached  to  a  knotted  bootlace. 

Did  he  but  know  how  far  the  historical  parallel  had 
gone  that  day — how  Jocky  Mason  had  waited  for  hours 


DIAMONDS  199 

outside  his  residence  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him  and 
becoming  acquainted  with  his  appearance — he  might 
have  been  surprised,  but  he  would  never  have  guessed 
the  evil  that  this  man  would  accomplish,  and,  in  some 
measure,  accomplish  unconsciously. 

He  was  not  in  his  club  five  minutes  when  a  friend 
tackled  him  for  a  concert  subscription. 

"Anson,  you  are  fond  of  music.  Here  is  a  new 
violinist,  a  Hungarian,  who  wants  a  start.  I  heard 
him  in  Budapest  last  autumn.  He  is  a  good  chap. 
Take  some  stalls." 

Philip  glanced  at  the  program. 

"Eckstein  at  the  piano.  I  see !  He  must  be  a  star. 
Who  is  the  soprano?  I  have  never  heard  her  name 
before." 

"Miss  Evelyn  Atherley,"  read  his  friend  over  his 
shoulder.  "I  don't  know  her  myself.  Dine  with  me 
here  to-morrow  night.  We  will  go  and  hear  the  per 
formance  afterward." 

"Can  you  distribute  stalls  among  your  acquaint 
ances  ?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  will  be  delighted.  Sorry  I  can't 
help  Jowkacsy  a  bit  myself." 

"You  are  helping  him  very  well.  I  will  take  a 
dozen;  two  for  you  and  me;  ten  elsewhere,  for  the 
claque." 

"You  are  a  good  chap.  Hello!  There's  Jones. 
Jones  is  good  for  a  couple.  Don't  forget  to-morrow 
night." 

And  the  good-natured  enthusiast,  who  was  a  terror 
to  many  of  his  friends,  ran  off  to  secure  another  victim. 

Philip  had  sent  his  hansom  home.  Shortly  before 
eleven  he  quitted  the  chib,  intending  to  walk  to  Park 


200  THE  KING  OF 

Lane  by  a  circuitous  route,  long  enough  to  consume  a 
big  cigar. 

He  chanced  to  pass  the  hall  in  which  the  concert  was 
to  take  place.  A  few  people  were  hurrying  from  the 
stage  door.  Evidently  a  rehearsal  had  just  taken  place. 
A  short  man,  with  a  huge  cluster  of  flowing  locks,  that 
offered  abundant  proof  of  his  musical  genius,  ran  out 
with  a  violin  case  in  his  hand. 

He  was  about  to  enter  a  hansom  waiting  near  the 
curb,  but  the  driver  said: 

"Engaged,  sir." 

The  man  did  not  seem  to  understand,  so  the  cabby 
barred  his  way  with  the  whip  and  shook  his  head. 
Then  the  stranger  rushed  to  a  neighboring  cab  rank — 
evidently  an  excitable  gentleman,  with  the  high-strung 
temperament  of  art. 

A  lady  quitted  the  hall  a  few  seconds  later. 

"Are  you  engaged?"  Philip  heard  her  ask  the  cab 
man. 

"No,  miss." 

"Take  me  to  No.  44,  Maida  Crescent,  Regent's 
Park,"  she  said.  After  arranging  her  skirts  daintily, 
she  entered  the  vehicle. 

"That  is  odd,"  thought  Philip,  who  had  witnessed 
both  incidents  in  the  course  of  a  six  yards'  walk.  He 
glanced  at  the  cabman,  and  fancied  the  man  gave  a 
peculiar  look  of  intelligence  toward  a  couple  of  fash 
ionably  dressed  loungers  who  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  closed  public  entrance. 

The  two  men,  without  exchanging  a  word  to  Philip's 
hearing,  went  to  a  brougham  standing  at  some  little 
distance.  They  entered.  The  coachman,  who  received 
no  instructions,  drove  off  in  the  same  direction  as  the 


DIAMONDS  201 

hansom,  and,  as  if  to  make  sure  he  was  being  followed, 
the  cab  driver  turned  to  look  behind  him. 

Once,  in  Naples,  Philip  saw  a  man  stealthily  follow 
ing  a  woman  down  an  unlighted  alley.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  went  after  the  pair,  and  was 
just  in  time  to  prevent  the  would-be  assassin  from 
plunging  an  uplifted  stiletto  into  the  woman's  back. 
The  recollection  of  that  little  drama  flashed  into  his 
mind  now ;  there  was  a  suggestion  of  the  Neapolitan 
bravo's  air  in  the  manner  in  which  these  men  stalked 
a  girl  who  was  quite  unaware  of  their  movements. 

He  asked  himself  why  a  cabman  should  refuse  one 
fare  and  pick  up  another  in  the  same  spot.  The  affair 
was  certainly  odd.  He  would  see  further  into  it  before 
he  dismissed  it  from  his  thoughts.  The  distance  to 
Maida  Crescent  was  not  great. 

While  thinking  he  was  acting.  He  sprang  into  the 
nearest  hansom. 

"A  brougham  is  following  a  hansom  up  Langham 
Place,"  he  said  to  the  driver.  "Keep  behind  them.  If 
they  separate,  follow  the  brougham.  When  it  stops, 
pull  up  at  the  best  place  to  avoid  notice." 

The  man  nodded.  Nothing  surprises  a  London  cab 
man.  Soon  the  three  vehicles  were  spinning  along  the 
Outer  Circle. 

It  was  not  a  very  dark  night,  the  sky  being  cloudless 
and  starlit.  Away  in  front,  at  a  point  where  the  two 
lines  of  lamps  curved  sharply  to  the  .right  and  van 
ished  amidst  the  trees,  a  row  of  little,  red  lights  showed 
that  the  road  was  up. 

The  leading  hansom  drove  steadily  on.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  in  this.  When  the  driver  reached 


202  THE  KING  OF 

the  obstruction,  he  would  turn  out  of  the  park  by  the 
nearer  gate — that  was  all. 

But  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  There  was  a  sud 
den  crash  of  wood,  a  woman's  scream,  and  the  horse 
was  struggling  wildly  amidst  a  pile  of  loose,  wooden 
blocks,  while  one  wheel  of  the  cab  dropped  heavily 
into  a  shallow  trench. 

Simultaneously  the  brougham  pulled  up  and  its  two 
occupants  rushed  to  the  scene  of  the  accident. 

Philip's  driver,  of  course,  obeyed  instructions,  but 
he  shouted  to  his  fare  as  he  jumped  into  the  road : 

"That  feller's  either  drunk  or  'e  did  it  a-puppuss." 

Philip  was  of  the  same  opinion.  He  reached  the 
overthrown  barricade  almost  as  soon  as  the  two  hurry 
ing  men  in  front,  both  of  whom  were  in  evening  dress. 

One  of  them  held  the  horse's  head  and  steadied  him ; 
the  other  was  just  in  time  to  help  the  young  lady  to 
leave  her  dangerous  conveyance. 

"I  hope  you  have  received  no  injury,  madam,"  he 
said,  politely. 

"Oh,  not  at  all.  I  was  frightened  for  an  instant. 
How  could  it  have  happened?  I  saw  the  lamps  quite 
plainly.  The  man  seemed  to  pull  his  horse  deliberately 
into  the  barrier." 

The  voice  was  singularly  sweet  and  well  modulated. 
A  neighboring  arc  lamp  illuminated  the  girl's  face  with 
its  white,  unpitying  radiance.  It  revealed  features 
beautifully  modeled,  and  largt,  startled  eyes  that 
looked  wonderingly  from  the  man  who  came  so 
promptly  to  her  rescue  to  the  driver  who  had  caused 
the  mishap.  Philip,  behind  the  hansom,  was  unseen, 
He  remained  a  critical  observer. 


DIAMONDS  203 

"I  fear  he  is  intoxicated,"  was  the  reply.  "Here, 
you!  How  came  you  to  make  such  a  blunder?" 

"Blind  as  an  owl,"  came  the  gurgling  answer.  "I 
saw  some  red  spots  dancin'  abaht,  but  I  thort  it  must 
be  that  larst  gill  o'  beer." 

Nevertheless  the  cabman  extricated  his  horse  and 
vehicle  from  their  predicament  with  singular  ease  for 
a  half-drunken  man. 

"Coin'  on,  miss?"  he  grinned.  "There's  nothin'  ex- 
try  for  the  steeplechise." 

"No,  no,"  cried  the  lady.  "I  will  walk.  I  will  pay 
you  now." 

"Take  my  advice  and  pay  him  not  a  cent,"  protested 
the  man  by  her  side.  "Leave  him  to  me.  My  friend 
here  will  take  his  number.  If  you  will  accept  a  seat 
in  my  brougham " 

The  cabman  began  to  swear  and  threaten  them  all 
with  personal  violence.  The  lady,  clearly  unwilling 
to  avail  herself  of  the  accommodating  offer  made  to 
her,  tried  to  edge  away.  The  driver  of  the  hansom 
whipped  his  horse  on  to  the  pavement.  By  this  tim^ 
he  had  turned  his  back  to  the  road-menders'  barrier. 

The  girl,  angered  and  alarmed,  shrank  toward  the 
gentleman,  who  seemed  to  give  her  some  measure  of 
protection  from  the  infuriated  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 

"Do  step  into  my  brougham,"  he  said,  civilly.  "Vic 
tor,  just  grab  the  gee-gee's  head  again,  and  keep  that 
idiot  quiet  until  we  get  away.  Now,  madam,  taloe  my 
advice.  You  will  be  quite  safe  instantly." 

Even  yet  she  hesitated.  There  was,  perchance,  a 
timbre  in  the  quiet,  cultured  tone  of  the  speaker  that 
did  not  ring  truly.  The  note  of  a  bell  cannot  be  per 
fect  if  there  is  a  flaw  in  the  metal,  and  the  human  voice 


204  THE  KING  OF 

often  betrays  a  warped  nature  when  to  all  outward 
seeming  there  is  a  fair  exterior. 

The  man  who  addressed  her  was  youthful,  not  much 
older  than  herself.  He  was  evidently  a  gentleman, 
with  the  polish  and  easy  repose  of  society.  His  words, 
his  attitude,  were  in  the  best  of  taste.  Yet 

A  loud  altercation  broke  out  between  the  cabman  and 
"Victor."  The  latter  did  not  appear  to  be  so  ready 
to  lay  hands  on  the  reins  again,  and  the  whip  fell 
viciously  on  the  horse's  flank,  causing  him  to  plunge 
forward  in  dangerous  proximity  to  the  couple  on  the 
sidewalk.  He  came  close,  but  not  too  close.  Philip 
was  now  quite  certain  that  he  was  witnessing  the  dex 
terous  display  of  a  skilled  driver. 

"Really,  I  am  at  a  loss  for  words  to  persuade  you 
that  your  only  course  is  to  use  my  carriage.  Other 
wise  there  will  be  a  confounded  row." 

The  stranger's  voice  was  a  trifle  petulant.  She  was 
such  an  unreasonable  young  lady.  She  turned  to  him 
irresolutely — to  find  Philip  at  her  side — thrusting  him 
self  in  front  of  her  would-be  rescuer. 

"You  have  been  the  victim  of  a  plot,  madam,"  he 
said.  "Your  driver  is  not  drunk.  He  caused  the  acci 
dent  purposely.  These  two  scoundrels  are  in  league 
with  him.  If " 

"What  the  devil "  cried  the  other,  fiercely,  but 

Philip  swung  him  bodily  against  the  iron  railings. 

"If  you  care  to  take  my  cab,  alone,  it  is  at  your 
service.  I  will  look  after  these  cads." 

His  quick  eyes  caught  a  signal  from  Victor  to  the 
cabman.  He  was  sorry  for  the  horse,  but  this  comedy 
must  be  stopped.  He  instantly  caught  the  bridle,  and 
backed  the  cab  violently  toward  the  excavation.  The 


DIAMONDS  205 

cabman  lashed  at  him  in  vain,  and  swore,  too,  .with 
remarkable  fluency  for  one  so  drunk.  Both  wheels 
crunched  on  top  of  the  stout  barrier,  and  became  locked 
there. 

Then  Anson  ran  back  toward  the  girl,  whose  arm 
was  held  by  the  owner  of  the  brougham. 

"Take  your  hands  off  that  lady,  or  I  will  hurt  you," 
said  Philip,  and  there  was  that  in  his  emphatic  order 
which  brooked  no  delay. 

The  stranger  dropped  his  restraining  hand,  but 
shouted  furiously : 

"By  what  right  do  you  interfere?  I  am  only  offer 
ing  the  lady  some  assistance  ?" 

Philip  ignored  him. 

"What  do  you  say,  madam  ?"  he  inquired,  somewhat 
sternly,  for  she  seemed  loath  to  trust  any  of  them. 
"Will  you  occupy  my  cab  ?  It  is  there.  Rest  assured 
that  neither  of  these  men  shall  follow  you." 

She  stood  her  ground,  came  nearer  to  him. 

"I  believe  you,"  she  murmured.  "I  thank  you  from 
my  heart.  It  is  inexplicable  that  such  wretches  can 
exist  as  these  two  seeming  gentlemen,  who  stooped  to 
such  artifice  against  a  helpless  woman." 

"Most  fortunately  I  saw  you  leaving  the  Regent's 
Hall,"  he  replied.  "This  cab  was  waiting  for  you,  and 
you  only.  The  man  refused  at  least  one  fare  to  my 
presence.  The  others  followed  in  a  brougham.  Do 
you  know  them?" 

"No.  I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge,  seen  either  of 
them  before  in  my  life.  How  came  you " 

"I  happened  to  hear  your  address.  I  will  write  to 
you  and  explain.  Go  now,"  he  quickly  interrupted,  for 


206  THE  KING  OF 

Victor  and  his  friend  were  approaching  them  after  a 
hasty  conference. 

"Leave  you  to  deal  with  these  assassins  alone !  Not 
I!  I  can  defend  myself.  I  can  help  you.  I  will 
scream  for  assistance.  There  are  too  many  of  them 
for  you  to  resist  them  single-handed." 

Philip  vowed  afterward  that  fire  flashed  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  splendid  passion  in  the  gesture  with  which 
she  pointed  to  the  enraged  hansom  driver,  who  had 
climbed  from  his  perch,  and  was  running  to  join  his 
employers. 

This  was  a  new  experience  for  Philip,  and  the  blood 
leaped  in  his  veins  at  the  girl's  courageous  words.  But 
he  laughed,  in  his  pleasant,  musical  way. 

"Men  who  would  attack  a  defenseless  woman,"  he 
said,  "are  poor  creatures  where  a  man's  heart  is  needed. 
Now  just  watch  me,  and  don't  be  alarmed." 

He  strode  to  meet  the  advancing  trio.     They  halted. 

"I  give  you  a  last  warning,"  he  cried.  "Drive  off  in 
your  carriage,  and  you,"  to  the  cabman,  "go  back  and 
help  your  horse.  You  must  go  now,  this  instant,  or 
take  the  consequences." 

There  was  the  silence  of  indecision.  This  strong- 
faced  man,  with  the  figure  of  an  athlete,  meant  what 
he  said. 

Victor  caught  his  friend's  arm. 

"Come  away,"  he  whispered.  "She  does  not  know 
you.  You  have  failed  this  time." 

Without  another  word  the  pair  crossed  the  road  to 
their  waiting  brougham.  The  cabman,  who  became 
remarkably  sober,  began  to  whine: 

"It's  on'y  a  lark,  guv'nor.  The  lydy  would  ha'  took 
no  'arm.  I  didn't  mean " 


DIAMONDS  207 

Philip  was  strongly  tempted  to  kick  him,  but  re 
frained.  He  grasped  the  man's  shoulder  and  lifted  his 
badge  to  the  light. 

"I  will  spare  you  for  the  lady's  sake,"  he  said, 
grimly,  "but  I  want  your  number,  in  case  you  try  any 
more  such  tricks." 

"My  Gawd,  it's  Mr.  Anson !" 

For  the  first  time  the  driver  saw  Philip's  face  clearly. 

"Ah,  you  know  me  then?  Who  were  those  black 
guards  who  employed  you?" 

"S'elp  me,  sir,  I  on'y  know  one  of  'em.  'E's  a  Mr. 
Victor  Grenier.  I  offen  pick  'im  up  at  the  Gardenia. 
'E  said  'is  pal  was  sweet  on  the  young  lydy  an'  wanted 
a  put-up  job  ter  'elp  'er.  That's  all,  guv 'nor,  on  me 
life." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  was  Philip's 
only  comment. 

He  rejoined  the  girl,  who  was  watching  the  retreat 
ing  brougham. 

"Now,"  he  cried,  pleasantly,  "you  can  go  home." 

"Please  drive  me  there.  I  will  not  deprive  you  of 
your  cab." 

So  they  drove  away  together,  and  the  driver  of  the 
hansom,  striving  to  free  his  vehicle  from  the  broken 
trestles,  paused  to  scratch  his  head. 

"  'E  fairly  bested  the  crowd,"  he  growled,  "an'  got 
the  girl  as  well.  My  eye,  but  she's  a  beauty." 


208  THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A  Face  From  the  Past. 

Maida  Crescent  was  little  more  than  half  a  mile  be 
yond  the  park. 

Philip  thought  it  due  to  the  lady  he  had  beguiled 
that  she  should  know  exactly  how  he  came  to  interfere 
in  her  behalf.  She  listened  in  silence,  and  when  she 
spoke,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  shy  nervousness  oddly 
at  variance  with  her  spirited  action  of  a  few  minutes 
earlier. 

"I  cannot  understand  it  at  all,"  she  said.  "I  am 
seldom  out  so  late.  My  professional  engagements  are 
few  and  far  between,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"Were  you  attending  a  rehearsal  at  the  Regent's 
Hall?" 

"Yes." 

"A  rehearsal  for  Monsieur  Jowkacsy's  concert?" 

"Yes." 

She  volunteered  no  further  information,  but  Philip 
was  a  persistent  person. 

"I  do  not  remember  another  day  in  my  life  previ 
ously,"  he  said,  "when  so  many  fortuitous  events 
grouped  themselves  together  in  such  a  curious  relation 
ship.  Even  this  adventure  is  a  sequel  to  a  prior  inci 
dent.  Just  before  I  joined  in  the  chase  after  you  I  had 
purchased  some  tickets  for  Jowkacsy's  musicale.  The 
strangest  item  of  all  is  that  I  was  practically  walking 
away  from  the  direction  in  which  I  live  when  my  atten 
tion  was  drawn  to  the  cabman's  behavior." 


DIAMONDS  209 

"Good  gracious !"  she  protested,  "am  I  taking  you 
out  of  your  way?  I  thought  you  merely  happened  to 
be  driving  after  us  through  the  park." 

She  invited  no  confidences.  She  adhered  strictly  to 
the  affair  of  the  moment,  and  he  had  no  option  but 
to  follow  her  cue. 

"I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  been  in  Regent's  Park 
before." 

"What  an  amazing  circumstance — that  you  should 
gallop  off  in  such  fashion  to  the  rescue  of  an  unknown 
woman,  I  mean." 

"That,  again,  is  original,  or  nearly  so." 

"Are  you  a  Londoner?" 

"To  some  extent — a  little  while  each  year.  I  live 
mostly  on  the  sea." 

"Oh,  that  accounts  for  your  gallantry.  You  are  a 
sailor." 

"A  yachtsman,"  corrected  Philip. 

"How  delightful.  I  have  not  even  seen  the  sea  for 
ages.  One  has  to  work  so  hard  nowadays  to  obtain 
recognition.  I  do  not  object  to  the  work,  for  I  love 
music,  but  the  bread-and-butter  aspect  is  disagreeable, 
and — and — you  have  learned  to-night  how  even  the 
small  amount  of  publicity  I  have  achieved  brings  with 
it  the  risk  of  insult." 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  quietly,  striving  not  to  add 
to  the  excitement  under  which  she  was  certainly  labor 
ing,  "one  of  those  men  is  named  Victor  Grenier.  You 
ought  to  know." 

"Thank  you.     How  did  you  ascertain  it?" 

"The  cabman  told  me.     He  knew  me." 

"The  cabman  knew  you  ?" 


210  THE  KING  OF 

"Yes.  I  fly  about  town  in  hansoms.  I  am  too  lazy 
to  walk." 

He  regretted  the  slip.  He  was  known  to  the  tribe 
of  Jehus  on  account  of  his  generosity  to  their  chari 
ties  ;  moreover,  was  not  one  of  the  order  his  horse- 
master  ? 

The  girl  laughed,  with  a  delightful  merriment  that 
relieved  the  tension. 

"You  acted  like  an  indolent  person,"  she  cried.  "Do 
you  know,  I  felt  that  you  would  have  banged  the  heads 
of  those  men  together  in  another  instant." 

Their  vehicle  slackened  pace,  and  curved  toward  the 
pavement  in  a  quiet  street. 

"Here  I  am  at  home,"  she  said,  and  Philip  assisted 
her  to  alight. 

"Oh,  my  music!"  she  wailed,  suddenly.  "I  left  it 
in  that  horrid  cab." 

Philip  repressed  a  smile. 

"Tell  me  your  name,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  recover 
it  for  you  early  in  the  morning." 

"Are  you  sure?  Oh,  what  a  trouble  I  have  been. 
How  good  you  are." 

"It  is  not  the  least  trouble.  I  took  the  cabman's 
number." 

"Indeed,  indeed,  I  am  grateful  to  you.  My  name 
is  Evelyn  Atherley.  I  would  ask  you  to  call  some 
day  and  see  my  mother,  but — but 

"You  do  not  wish  her  to  hear  of  your  adventure  to 
night?  It  would  frighten  her." 

"She  would  be  terrified  each  time  I  went  out  alone. 
Believe  me,  I  can  ill  afford  a  hansom,  but  I  take  one 
late  at  night  to  please  her,  as  the  walk  from  the  nearest 
'bus  route  is  lonely." 


DIAMONDS  211 

"You  are  singing  at  the  Regent's  Hall.  I  will  be 
there.  By  the  way,  my  name  is  Philip  Anson." 

The  girl's  big  eyes — he  fancied  they  were  blue,  but 
in  the  dim  light  he  could  not  be  sure — looked  into  his. 
There  was  a  sparkle  of  merriment  in  them,  he  thought 
— a  quick  perception  of  a  hint  delicately  conveyed.  But 
she  said,  quite  pleasantly: 

"My  last  song  is  at  ten-fifteen.  I  will  leave  the  hall 
at  ten-thirty.  I  hope  my  mother  will  be  with  me.  I 
will  be  most  pleased  to  see  you  there,  and  thank  you 
more  coherently  than  is  possible  now,  especially  if  you 
recover  my  music." 

The  quick  trot  of  a  fast-driven  horse  came  round 
the  corner. 

Philip  was  assuring  her  that  they  would  certainly 
meet  next  evening,  when  a  hansom  pulled  up  behind 
the  waiting  vehicle,  and  the  driver  said : 

"Beg  pawdon,  miss,  you  left  this,"  and  he  held  forth 
the  lost  portfolio.  The  cabman  was  anxious  to  atone 
for  his  share  in  the  night's  proceedings. 

Philip  tipped  him  in  a  manner  that  caused  the  man 
to  murmur  his  renewed  regret,  but  he  was  sternly  told 
to  go.  Philip's  own  reward  from  Miss  Atherley  was 
a  warm  handshake,  and  a  grateful  smile. 

He  drove  homeward,  wondering  how  he  could  best 
help  her  in  her  career. 

And  she,  after  kissing  her  mother  "Good-night," 
went  to  her  room  to  wonder  also,  but  her  wonderment 
was  mixed  with  regret.  For  such  a  nice  young  man  as 
Philip  Anson  must  have  troops  of  friends,  he  must 
be  rich,  he  must  be  far  removed  from  the  orbit  of  a 
girl  who,  whatever  her  birth  and  breeding,  was  driven 


212  THE  KING  OF 

in  the  flower  of  her  youth  to  earn  her  living  on  the 
concert  platform. 

Jowkacsy  won  his  laurels  with  superb  ease.  Philip, 
listening  to  the  Polish  genius,  found  himself  hoping 
that  the  fair  English  girl  might  achieve  some  measure 
of  the  rapturous  applause  bestowed  on  the  long-haired 
enthusiast.  He  murmured  the  thought,  in  guarded 
commonplace,  to  his  musical  friend. 

"Impossible,  my  dear  fellow,"  was  the  instant  ver 
dict.  "She  is  mediocre;  just  an  average  singer,  and 
no  more.  Music  is  divine,  but  its  exploiters  suffer 
from  the  petty  jealousies  of  housemaids.  Jowkacsy 
can  have  no  rivals  to-night.  Eckstein  is  a  master,  of 
course,  but  a  necessary  evil  as  an  accompanist.  The 
other  artists  are  mere  fill-ups — good,  or  they  would  not 
be  here,  but  not  in  the  front  rank.  Listen.  I  am 
connected  with  a  choral  society  in  my  county,  and  we 
once  engaged  a  leading  tenor  and  a  second-rate  bari 
tone.  The  tenor  had  a  name  with  fourteen  letters,  and 
the  baritone  only  owned  four.  The  unfortunate  local 
printer  selected  his  type  to  fill  the  lines  on  the  bills 
by  size  and  not  by  merit.  The  moment  the  tenor  saw 
the  four-letter  man  looming  large  across  the  poster  he 
absolutely  refused  to  sing  a  note  unless  fresh  bills 
v  vvere  printed  with  his  fourteen  letters  in  larger  type. 
And  we  were  compelled  to  humor  him.  That  is  music 
from  the  agent's  point  of  view." 

When  Miss  Evelyn  Atherley  advanced  to  the  front 
of  the  platform  Philip  thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
woman  so  beautiful.  She  had  the  grace  of  a  perfect 
figure  and  the  style  of  an  aristocrat.  She  was  dressed 
in  light  blue  chiffon,  with  a  spray  of  forget-me-nots, 
the  color  of  her  eyes,  arranged  across  the  front  of  her 


DIAMONDS  213 

bodice.  Anson  experienced  a  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
he  saw  that  the  bouquet  he  caused  to  be  forwarded  to 
her  contained  flowers  of  a  kindred  hue.  The  skill  of 
the  florist  had  correctly  interpreted  his  description, 
which,  indeed,  was  largely  guesswork  on  his  part. 

A  high  forehead  and  a  mouth  and  chin  of  patrician 
mold  gave  an  air  of  caste  to  an  otherwise  sweetly  pretty 
face. 

"By  Jove  !"  whispered  the  critic,  "if  she  sings  as  well 
as  she  looks  I  may  be  mistaken." 

Her  first  song  was  Goring  Thomas'  "A  Summer 
Night."  Instantly  it  was  perceptible  that  her  voice 
was  true,  the  outpouring  of  a  soul.  In  volume  it  was 
in  no  way  remarkable,  but  its  melodious  cadence  was 
fresh,  innocent,  virginal.  The  notes  were  those  of  a 
joyous  bird. 

Anson,  biassed  by  other  sentiments,  thought  he  had 
never  heard  her  equal,  but  his  friend,  after  joining  in 
his  vigorous  applause,  gave  him  a  douche  of  accurate 
judgment. 

"The  old  story,"  he  growled ;  "a  fine  artist  retarded, 
perhaps  spoiled,  by  the  need  to  make  too  early  an  ap 
pearance.  She  wants  a  year  in  Milan,  another  year 
with  Randegger  or  Leoni,  and  she  might,  if  all  went 
well,  be  a  star." 

His  hearer  chafed  inwardly,  but  only  hazarded  the 
opinion  that  she  was  already  a  singer  of  rare  intensity, 
while,  as  for  appearance — — 

"Ah,  there  you  are  right,"  was  the  ready  rejoinder. 
"The  Gaiety  is  her  right  place.  She  would  be  admir 
able  in  light  opera." 

The  conversation  languished.     The  suggestion  that 


214  THE  KING  OF 

Miss  Atherley  was  best  fitted  for  the  stage  was  dis 
pleasing  to  Philip,  he  scarce  knew  why. 

The  girl  was  given  a  hearty  encore,  and  her  next 
song  was  a  simple,  humorous  little  ballad  about  a  miller 
and  a  maid.  It  was  charmingly  sung  and  acted.  The 
critic  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  smiled  at  Philip 
with  the  indulgent  air  of  the  man  who  says : 

"I  told  you  so." 

Soon  Philip  rose  to  go. 

"Good  heavens,  man,  you  do  not  intend  to  leave  be 
fore  Jowkacsy  plays  the  suite  in  F  minor?"  queried 
his  amazed  acquaintance. 

"Sorry.     I  have  an  engagement." 

He  quitted  the  hall,  his  tall  figure  riveting  a  good 
many  eyes  as  he  made  his  way  toward  an  exit.  One 
man,  watching  from  the  gallery,  smiled  cynically,  and 
rose  at  the  same  time. 

Philip  found  the  foyer  to  be  practically  deserted. 
He  asked  a  policeman  on  duty  to  call  Mr.  Anson's  car 
riage  from  the  ranks,  and  a  footman  came,  quickly 
running  lest  he  had  incurred  a  reprimand  for  not  be 
ing  on  the  lookout  for  his  master  at  the  entrance. 

In  a  very  little  time  Miss  Atherley  appeared,  and 
with  her  a  handsome,  elderly  lady,  who  was  quite  obvi 
ously  her  mother.  The  girl  was  radiant.  She  never 
expected  a  cordial  reception  from  a  high-class  audi 
ence,  such  as  gathered  to  worship  the  violinist. 

"Mother  dear,"  she  cried,  "this  is  Mr.  Anson,  who 
very  kindly  came  to  my  assistance  \vhen  a  cabman  gave 
me  some  trouble  last  night." 

Mrs.  Atherley  gave  him  a  pleasant  greeting,  but 
turned  to  her  daughter. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  of  any  dispute  when  you 


DIAMONDS  215 

returned  home?  You  know  how  nervous  I  am  when 
you  are  out  at  night." 

The  girl  laughed  merrily. 

"You  have  answered  your  own  question,  carissima. 
That  is  precisely  why  I  did  not  tell  you." 

"Miss  Atherley  was  good  enough  to  permit  me  to 
meet  you  here  after  the  concert,"  put  in  Philip,  "so 
that  I  might  add  my  assurances  to  her  own  that  the 
affair  was  of  no  consequence.  It  is  early  yet.  Will 
you  come  with  me  for  some  supper,  and  thus  give  me 
a  chance  of  telling  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  your 
daughter's  singing?" 

Wise  Philip,  to  pay  court  to  the  mother. 

Mrs.  Atherley,  in  no  way  deceived,  yet  gratified  by 
the  deference  shown  to  her,  gave  the  girl  a  question 
ing  glance. 

"Oh,  do  let  us  go,  mamma !  I  am  famished,  I  can 
didly  admit  it.  Mr.  Anson,  I  have  subsisted  since 
luncheon  without  a  morsel." 

"We  will  be  delighted '  began  the  older  lady, 

but  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the  footman  holding 
open  the  door  of  the  carriage. 

"Is  that  carriage  yours?"  she  said  to  Philip. 

"Yes." 

"Where  do  we  sup  ?" 

"At  the  Savoy." 

She  flushed  slightly. 

"Not  the  Savoy,"  she  faltered. 

"Why  not,  mother  ?"  cried  the  girl,  spiritedly.  "Mr. 
Anson,  my  mother  does  not  care  to  meet  associates  of 
— of  other  days.  I  tell  her  she  thinks  far  too  much  of 
these  considerations.  Why  should  she  fear  to  face 
them  simply  because  we  are  poor?'' 


216  THE  KING  OF 

"I  think,  Mrs.  Atherley,"  he  said,  quietly,  "that  you 
are  very  rich,  far  richer  than  many  a  mere  de  famille 
we  shall  meet  at  the  restaurant." 

This  neat  compliment  turned  the  scale  of  the 
mother's  hesitation.  Indeed,  she  might  well  be  proud 
of  her  beautiful  daughter. 

The  two  ladies  seated  themselves  in  the  luxurious 
landau  with  an  ease  that  showed  familiarity,  but  Mrs. 
Atherley,  being  a  woman,  could  not  help  being  troubled 
in  the  matter  of  dress. 

"The  Savoy!"  she  murmured,  as  the  rubber-tired 
vehicle  glided  away  noiselessly.  "I  have  not  been 
there  for  years.  And  people  at  supper  are  always  at 
tired  so  fashionably.  Could  we  not " 

The  girl  put  her  arm  around  her  waist. 

"Just  for  once,  mamma,  you  shall  not  care  a  little 
bit,  and  none  may  be  the  wiser.  Here  is  Mr.  Anson — 
quite  an  elegant  himself — he  would  never  guess  that 
our  gowns  were  homemade." 

"The  women,  dear  one.     They  will  know." 

"Oh,  you  deceiver !  You  said  my  toilet  was  perfect, 
and  I  am  quite  sure  yours  is." 

This  logic  was  incontrovertible.  Mrs.  Atherley 
sighed,  and  asked  what  took  place  the  previous  night. 

Philip  imagined  that  the  girl  hung  back,  so  he  boldly 
undertook  an  explanation.  By  describing  the  cabman 
as  apparently  intoxicated,  and  certainly  impudent,  he 
covered  a  good  deal  of  ground,  and  the  rest  was  easy. 

When  they  reached  the  Savoy,  the  anxious  mother 
had  relegated  the  incident  to  the  limbo  of  unimportant 
things.  Only  one  other  matter  troubled  her — the 
somewhat  unconventional  origin  of  her  daughter's  ac- 


DIAMONDS  217 

quaintance  with  this  pleasant-mannered  young  gen 
tleman. 

She  was  far  too  tactful  to  hint  at  such  a  point  just 
then.  It  should  be  reserved  for  home  discussion. 

Meanwhile,  they  were  early  arrivals.  The  head 
waiter  marshaled  them  '  to  a  window  table.  Mrs. 
Atherley  smiled ;  she  knew  her  London. 

"You  were  sure  we  would  accompany  you?"  she 
cried. 

"Not  at  all  sure ;  only  hopeful,"  said  Philip. 

"Ah,  well.  It  is  good  occasionally  to  revisit  the  old 
scenes.  No,  Elf,  I  will  sit  here ;  I  will  not  be  en  face 
to  that  row  of  tables.  Half  a  dozen  people  would  cer 
tainly  recognize  me,  and  I  do  not  wish  it." 

Elf!  The  name  drove  Philip's  thoughts  backward 
with  a  bound — back  to  a  torrential  night  in  a  London 
square,  and  the  tearing  open  of  a  carriage  door  in  time 
to  save  a  sweet  little  girl  all  robed  in  white,  who,  but 
for  him,  would  have  fallen  with  an  overturned  vehicle. 

Elf!  It  was  an  unusual  pet  name.  The  child  of 
ten  years  ago  would  be  about  the  age  of  the  lively  and 
spirituelle  girl  by  his  side.  The  child  had  faced  her 
enraged  uncle  on  that  memorable  night;  the  woman 
had  refused  to  leave  him  when  she  thought  danger 
threatened  in  the  park. 

Could  it  be  possible !  He  was  startled,  bewildered, 
utterly  dumfounded  by  even  the  remote  possibility 
that  another  figure  from  the  past  should  come  before 
him  in  such  wise. 

"Mr.  Anson !  What  have  you  found  in  the  menu  to 
perplex  you  so  terribly?  Does  danger  lurk  in  the 
agneau  du  printemps?  Is  there  a  secret  horror  in  the 
salmi?" 


2i 8  THE  KING  OF 

Evelyn's  raillery  restored  his  scattered  wits. 

"May  I  say  something  personal?"  he  inquired. 

"About  the  lamb?" 

"About  you?  Mrs.  Atherley  called  you  'Elf  just 
now." 

"Yes.  I  regret  that  I  earned  the  title  in  ages  past. 
The  habits  have  ceased,  but  the  name  remains." 

"I  once  met  a  little  girl  named  Elf.  It  was  ten  years 
ago,  on  a  March  evening,  in  a  West  End  square. 
There  had  been  a  carriage  accident.  A  pair  of  horses 
were  frightened  by  a  terrific  thunderstorm.  The  girl 
was  accompanied  by  a  somewhat  selfish  gentleman. 
He  jumped  out  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices  ;  indeed, 
slammed  the  door  in  her  face.  A  ragged  boy " 

"A  boy  with  newspapers — a  boy  who  spoke  quite 
nicely — saved  her  by  running  into  the  road.  The  car 
riage  overturned  in  front  of  Lord  Vanstone's  house. 
I  was  the  girl!" 

Both  ladies  were  amazed  at  the  expression  on 
Philip's  face.  He  betrayed  such  eagerness,  such  in 
tense  longing,  such  keen  anxiety  to  establish  her  iden 
tity  with  the  child  who  figured  in  an  accident  of  no 
very  remarkable  nature,  that  they  could  not  help  being 
vastly  surprised. 

Their  astonishment  was  not  lessened  when  Philip 
exclaimed : 

"And  I  was  the  boy  !" 

"But  I  said  'a  boy  with  newspapers.'  " 

"Yes,  a  very  urchin,  a  waif  of  the  streets." 

"My  uncle  struck  you." 

"And  you  defended  me,  saved  me  from  being  locked 
up,  in  fact." 


DIAMONDS  219 

"Oh,  this  is  too  marvelous.  Mother,  you  must  re 
member ' 

"My  dear  one,  I  remember  the  event  as  if  it  had 
taken  place  yesterday.  Your  uncle  would  not  have 
cared  were  you  killed  that  night.  All  he  wanted  was 
your  money.  Now  he  has  that,  and  mine.  He  was, 
indeed,  a  wicked  man." 

"Mother  dear,  he  is  unhappy.  Are  we?  But,  Mr. 
Anson,  what  wonderful  change  in  your  fortunes  has 
taken  place  since  our  first  meeting?  Is  the  newspaper 
trade  so  thriving  that  a  carriage  and  pair,  a  supper  at 
the  Savoy,  stalls  at  the  Regent's  Hall,  and  a  bouquet 
from  Rosalind's,  are  mere  trimmings,  so  to  speak,  to 
a  busy  day?" 

"Evelyn !"  protested  Mrs.  Atherley. 

But  the  girl  was  too  buoyant,  too  utterly  oblivious 
of  all  that  this  meeting  meant  to  Philip,  to  cease  from 
charring  him. 

"Please,  Mr.  Anson,  do  tell  us  the  secret.  I  will 
sell  any  paper  you  name.  I  get  five  guineas  for  sing 
ing  two  songs,  I  admit,  but  I  may  only  sing  them  once 
a  month.  I  have  loads  of  time  to  run  about  crying, 
'Extrey  speshul!  'Orrible  disawster.'  Or  does  the 
magic  spring  from  writing  those  thrilling  stories  one 
sees  placarded  on  the  hoardings?  I  believe  I  could  do 
it.  I  once  won  a  prize  in  a  lady's  magazine  for  a  set 
of  verses,  the  genuine  and  unaided  production  of  a 
girl  aged  under  fourteen." 

Philip  compelled  himself  to  respond  to  her  mood. 
He  promised  to  reveal  his  specific  for  money-making 
at  some  future  period,  when  she  was  sufficiently  daz 
zled  to  accept  his  words  as  those  of  a  prophet. 

With  the  tact  of  a  woman  of  the  world,  Mrs.  Ather- 


220  THE  KING  OF 

ley  led  the  conversation  back  to  less  personal  channels. 
The  great  restaurant  was  rapidly  filling  now.  The 
occupants  of  neighboring  tables  cast  occasional  glances 
at  the  merry  trio  which  discussed  the  foibles  of  the 
musical  world,  the  ways  of  agents,  the  little  meannesses 
and  petty  spites  of  the  greatest  artists,  and,  incidentally, 
did  ample  justice  to  an  excellent  meal. 

Philip  thought  he  had  never  before  met  such  a  de 
lightful  girl.  Evelyn  was  quite  certain  that  some  un 
known  good  fairy  had  given  her  this  pleasant  acquaint 
ance,  and  Mrs.  Atherley,  after  a  silent  spasm  of  regret 
that  her  daughter  should  be  denied  the  position  in  the 
greater  world  for  which  she  was  so  admirably  fitted, 
abandoned  herself  to  the  infectious  gayety  of  the 
younger  people. 

Both  she  and  Evelyn  confessed  to  a  feeling  of  re 
newed  surprise  when  Philip  happened  to  mention  his 
London  address. 

Whatever  faults  the  denizens  of  Park  Lane  may 
possess,  that  of  being  unknown  cannot  be  reckoned 
among  them,  and  Mrs.  Atherley,  in  a  period  not  very 
remote,  knew  the  occupants  of  every  house  in  that  re 
markable  thoroughfare.  She  could  not,  however,  re 
call  the  name  of  Anson. 

At  last  a  most  enjoyable  meal  came  to  an  end. 
Philip,  supported  most  ably  by  a  skilled  head  waiter, 
spun  it  out  to  the  utmost  possible  limit,  but  the  inex 
orable  clock  would  not  be  denied. 

He  thought  the  two  ladies  might  prefer  to  drive 
home  alone,  so  he  sent  them  away  in  his  carriage,  and 
made  an  excuse  that  he  hid  an  appointment  at  his 
club.  In  truth,  he  wished  to  be  free  to  walk  far  arid 
fast,  while  his  excited  brain  demanded  a  solution  of 


DIAMONDS  221 

the  strange  congeries  of  events  which  had  so  crowded 
into  his  life  during  forty-eight  hours. 

About  the  time  that  Philip's  coachman  safely  de 
posited  Evelyn  and  her  mother  at  their  residence,  Vic 
tor  Grenier,  again  attired  in  evening  dress  and  accom 
panied  by  Jocky  Mason,  whose  huge  frame  was  en 
cased  in  a  suit  of  gray  tweed,  entered  a  fashionable 
West  End  bar,  and  found  an  elegant  young  person 
leaning  against  the  marble-topped  counter,  engaged  in 
a  war  of  wits  with  a  barmaid. 

The  arrival  of  the  two  men,  however,  put  a  quick 
stop  to  the  badinage.  The  youth  quitted  the  counter 
with  a  careless  discourtesy  that  annoyed  the  girl  to 
whom  he  was  talking. 

"Well,"  he  demanded  from  Grenier,  "did  anything 
happen  ?" 

"Jimmie,"  was  the  cool  reply,  "I  told  you  that  your 
stupid  ruse  last  night  would  result  in  failure.  Far 
worse,  it  has  supplied  you  with  a  rival  against  whom 
you  may  as  well  give  up  the  game  at  once." 

"Rot!"  cried  the  other,  fiercely,  with  an  oath. 
"Don't  irritate  me.  Tell  me  plainly  what  has  gone 
wrong  now." 

"She  was  there,  and  sang  delightfully.  'Pon  my 
honor,  she  is  a  pretty  girl.  But  the  man  was  there, 
too,  and  he  managed  to  improve  so  well  on  the  oppor 
tunity  you  were  kind  enough  to  provide  for  him,  Jim 
mie.  that  after  her  show  was  over  she  and  her  mother 
met  him  at  the  main  entrance,  and  they  drove  off  to 
g-ether  to  the  Savoy  in  a  carriage  and  pair." 

"Then  who  the  deuce  is  he?"  demanded  the  angry 
youth. 

"I  tell  you,  Jimmie,  you  have  no  earthly  chance. 


222  THE  KING  OF 

Last  night's  intruder  was  none  other  than  Mr.  Philip 
Anson,  the  millionaire." 

"Philip  Anson.  Great  Scott!  He — of  all  men  in 
the  world." 

The  younger  man  became  very  pale,  and  his  eyes 
rolled  in  a  species  of  delirious  agitation.  But  Jocky 
Mason  had  caught  the  name,  though  he  did  not  com 
prehend  the  exact  subject  of  their  discourse. 

"Philip  Anson !"  he  said.  "If  there's  anything  on 
foot  where  Philip  Anson  is  concerned,  count  me  as  his 
enemy.  Curse  him !  Curse  him  to  all  eternity !" 

And  he  struck  a  table  with  his  great  fist  until  other 
men  began  to  stare,  and  Grenier  was  forced  earnestly 
to  counsel  his  associates  to  control  themselves  in  such 
a  public  place. 


DIAMONDS  223 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

The  Master  Fiend. 

"Come  to  my  chambers,"  muttered  the  youngest  of 
the  trio.  "We  are  fools  to  discuss  such  things  here. 
It  is  your  fault,  Grenier.  Why  did  you  drop  this 
bombshell  on  me  so  unexpectedly?  You  confounded 
actors  are  always  looking  out  for  a  curtain.  You 
should  not  try  the  experiment  on  your  chums  in  a 
crowded  bar." 

"Now,  my  dear  Langdon,  do  be  reasonable.  How 
could  I  tell  that  the  mere  name  of  Philip  Anson  would 
create  a  scene?  You  look  as  sick  as  a  man  who  has 
just  been  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  and  my  old  pal 
Hunter  seems  to  have  suddenly  gone  mad." 

Indeed,  his  words  were  justified.  Mr.  James  Crich- 
ton  Langdon  was  corpselike  in  pallor,  and  Mason,  alias 
Hunter,  though  his  tongue  was  stilled,  bore  every  indi 
cation  of  a  man  enraged  almost  beyond  control. 

"Come  away,  then,"  said  Langdon,  with  a  horrible 
attempt  to  smile  indifferently. 

"No,  no.  There  are  too  many  eyes  here  that  we 
should  leave  with  the  air  of  a  set  of  stage  murderers. 
Sit  down.  Let  us  have  a  nip  of  brandy.  Talk  about 
racing,  women,  anything,  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
go  out  quietly." 

Grenier  was  right.  A  detective  had  already  nudged 
an  acquaintance  and  whispered : 

"The  pigeon  seems  to  be  upset.     And  one  of  the 


224  THE  KING  OF 

hawks  is  in  a  rare  temper,  too.     I'll  keep  an  eye  on 
that  collection." 

He  watched  them  through  a  mirror.  He  saw 
Grenier  exert  himself  to  put  his  companions  in  a  better 
humor.  When  they  went  out  he  followed,  and  ascer 
tained  from  the  commissionaire  at  the  door  that  they 
had  gone  toward  Shaftesbury  Avenue. 

By  walking  rapidly  he  sighted  them  again,  and  saw 
them  turn  into  a  doorway. 

"Grenier's  chambers !"  he  said.  "What  a  splendid 
nerve  that  fellow  has.  Reports  himself  coolly  at  Scot 
land  Yard  every  month,  and  lives  in  style  not  half  a 
mile  away.  How  does  he  manage  it?  I  must  make 
some  inquiry  about  the  others." 

Certainly  the  methods  of  the  superior  scoundrels  of 
London  are  peculiar.  Grenier  knew  that  he  was  a 
marked  man  in  the  eyes  of  the  police.  He  knew  that 
the  particular  saloon  bar  he  affected  was  the  rendez 
vous  not  only  of  others  like  himself,  but  of  the  smart 
est  detective  officers  of  the  metropolitan  force.  Yet 
this  was  his  favorite  hunting  ground.  Where  the  car 
cass  is  there  are  the  jackals ;  he  would  never  dream  of 
honest  endeavor  in  a  new  land  to  begin  life  anew.  The 
feast  was  spread  before  his  eyes,  and  he  could  not 
resist  it. 

But  Grenier  was  a  careful  rogue.  After  a  boyhood 
of  good  training  and  education,  he  drifted  into  a  bad 
set  at  the  beginning  of  his  adult  career.  Once,  indeed, 
he  endeavored  to  put  his  great  natural  abilities  to  some 
reasonable  use  by  going  on  the  stage.  The  industrious 
hardship  of  the  early  years  of  an  actor's  striving  were 
not  to  his  liking,  however.  No  sooner  had  he  attained 


DIAMONDS  225 

a  position  of  trust  as  manager  of  a  touring  company 
than  he  tampered  with  moneys  intrusted  to  his  care. 

He  was  not  actually  found  out,  but  suspected  and 
dismissed.  Then  the  regular  gradations  of  crime  came 
naturally  to  him.  Gambling,  card-sharping,  company 
frauds,  even  successful  forgery,  succeeded  each  other 
in  their  recognized  sequence,  until,  at  last,  came  de 
tection  and  a  heavy  sentence,  for  the  authorities  had 
long  waited  for  him  to  drop  into  the  net. 

Now  that  he  was  free,  he  did  not  intend  to  revisit 
any  of  His  Majesty's  convict  settlements  if  he  could 
help  it. 

His  wits  were  sharpened,  his  cool  intellect  developed, 
by  prison  life  and  associations.  He  personally  would 
keep  clear  of  the  law  and  make  others  support  him. 

He  would  depend  on  two  classes  of  contributories — 
fools,  like  Langdon,  and  slow-witted  criminals,  like 
Mason.  Being  a  really  clever  man,  it  would  be  strange 
if  his  own  middle  path  were  not  kept  clear  of  fetters. 

In  the  mystery  surrounding  Philip  Anson's  influence 
over  these  two  he  scented  interesting  developments. 
Beginning  with  a  young  rake's  attempt  to  ensnare  a 
beautiful  girl,  he  suddenly  discovered  a  situation  preg 
nant  with  the  potentiality  of  gain  to  himself.  It  did 
not  matter  to  him  who  paid  him,  whether  Anson  or 
Langdon.  He  would  betray  one  or  the  other,  or  both 
impartially. 

Mason  he  liked.  The  man's  rugged  strength  of 
character,  his  sledge-hammer  villainy,  his  dogged  ac 
ceptance  of  the  leadership  of  a  more  skilled  rascal,  ap 
pealed  to  him.  Mason  was  a  tool,  and  a  hard-hitting 
one.  He  would  use  him,  safeguard  him  if  he  could, 
but  use  him  anyhow. 


226  THE  KING  OF 

In  the  seclusion  of  Grenier's  small  flat  Langdon 
poured  out  his  spleen. 

Anson  was  the  bane  of  his  life.  His  stepfather  was 
Alison's  uncle,  and  the  old  idiot  recently  found  out  cer 
tain  facts  concerning  the  life  led  by  his  stepson  that 
caused  a  family  rupture.  His  mother  endeavored  to 
patch  matters  with  ill  success,  and  the  baronet  was 
intent  on  finding  his  sister's  son,  and  atoning  to  him 
for  years  of  neglect  by  making  him  his  heir. 

Lady  Louisa  concealed  nothing  of  this  from  her 
scapegrace  son.  She  hoped  to  frighten  him  by  the 
threatened  loss  of  supplies.  But  neither  fright  nor 
hatred  could  bring  him-  to  leave  London,  and  settle 
down  to  a  quiet  life  in  Devonshire,  when,  perhaps,  the 
elderly  naturalist's  fit  of  indignation  might  gradually 
wear  itself  out. 

At  this  crisis  came  his  discovery  of  Evelyn  Ather- 
ley,  and  a  mad  desire  to  win  her  affections.  He  even 
dreamed  of  persuading  her  to  marry  him,  and  by  this 
means  succeed  in  rehabilitating  himself  with  Sir  Philip 
Morland. 

The  girl  was  well-born.  Mrs.  Atherley  was  Lord 
Vanstone's  half-sister,  and,  although  his  lordship  had 
ruined  himself  and  his  relations  by  his  extravagance, 
the  match  was  in  every  other  respect  suitable. 

He  was  not  content  with  the  slow  formula  of  seeking 
an  acquaintance  in  the  ordinary  way.  Accustomed  to 
speedier  conquests,  he  confided  his  wishes  to  Grenier, 
and  resented  the  latter's  condemnation  of  his  sugges 
tion  of  a  mock  accident,  in  which  Langdon  should 
figure  as  the  gentlemanly  rescuer,  as  a  ready  means  of 
winning  the  girl's  grateful  regard. 

The  result  was  worse  than  failure.     He  was  wild 


DIAMONDS  227 

with  himself,  wild  with  Grenier,  and  reached  a  higher 
pitch  of  fury  when  Mason  surlily  refused  to  say  what 
grievance  he  harbored  against  Anson. 

"A  nice  muddle  I've  made  of  everything,"  cried  the 
disappointed  youth,  "and  a  precious  lot  of  friends  I've 
discovered.  I  tell  you  everything,  place  myself  unre 
servedly  in  your  power,  and  you  not  only  let  me  drift 
into  a  stupid  blunder,  but  decline  to  share  your  confi 
dences  with  me." 

He  rose  to  go,  but  Grenier  firmly  pushed  him  back 
into  a  chair. 

"Don't  be  a  bigger  fool  than  you  are,  Jimmie,  and 
leave  those  who  will  help  you.  I  told  you  the  cab 
adventure  was  a  mistake.  It  might  go  wrong  in 
twenty  ways  and  right  only  in  one.  And  you  must 
admit  that  I  never  heard  of  Anson  from  you  until 
to-night." 

"I  may  be  to  blame,"  was  the  sulky  admission,  "but 
who  is  your  friend  Hunter,  and  why  does  he  not  be  as 
outspoken  as  I?" 

"There  are  reasons.  Hunter  was  cleaned  out  in 
Africa  on  account  of  Anson's  manipulation  of  a  dia 
mond  mine.  He  wants  to  get  even  with  him.  That 
should  be  enough  for  you." 

Mason  smiled  sourly  at  his  leader's  ready  explana 
tion,  and  Langdon  saw  only  the  venom  in  the  man's 
face. 

"He  ought  to  have  said  so,"  he  muttered.  "I  am  in 
no  mood  to  be  denied  the  confidence  of  those  who  act 
with  me  in  this  matter.  In  any  case,  what  can  we 
do?" 

Grenier  procured  a  decanter  of  brandy  and  passed 
his  cigarette  case. 


228  THE  KING  OF 

"We  can  accomplish  nothing-  without  money." 
"Money !    What  avail  is  money  against  a  million 
aire?" 

"None,  directly.  You  would  be  swamped  instantly. 
But  we  must  know  more  about  Anson.  He  has  serv 
ants.  They  can  be  made  to  talk.  He  has  susceptible 
cooks  and  housemaids  in  Park  Lane,  and  at  whatever 
place  he  owns  in  the  country.  I  am  great  with  cooks 
and  housemaids.  There  is  a  mystery,  an  unfathomable 
mystery,  about  his  supply  of  diamonds.  It  must  be 
probed " 

"No  mystery  at  all,"  snarled  Jocky  Mason.  "He 
found  a  meteor  in  a  slum  called  Johnson's  Mews.  It 
was  cram  full  of  diamonds.  I  saw  some  of  "cm." 

"You  saw  them!" 

His  hearers  allowed  all  other  emotions  to  yield  to 
the  interest  of  this  astounding  statement. 

"Yes.  I  don't  say  much.  I  act.  You'll  get  no 
more  out  of  me.  I  want  none  of  your  girls  or  prop 
erty.  I  want  Philip  Anson's  life,  and  I'll  have  it  if 
I  swing  for  it!" 

"My  dear  Hunter,  you  are  talking  wildly.  Have 
another  drink?" 

Grenier,  cool  as  an  icicle,  saw  unexpected  vistas  open 
ing  before  him.  He  must  be  wary  and  collected. 
Here  was  the  man  who  would  pay,  and  the  man  who 
would  dare  all  things. 

Mason's  truculent  determination  gave  hope  even  to 
Langdon.  He,  too,  gifted  with  a  certain  power  of 
vicious  reasoning,  saw  that  this  new  ally  might  prove 
useful.  But  he  was  afraid  of  such  bold  utterances,  and 
hoped  to  achieve  his  purposes  without  binding  himself 


DIAMONDS  229 

even  tacitly  to  the  commission  of  a  crime,  for  Mason 
not  only  looked,  but  talked  murder. 

"I  think  I  had  better  go,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "Your 
brandy  is  too  strong  for  my  head,  Grenier.  Call  and 
see  me  in  the  morning." 

The  astute  rogue  whom  he  addressed  raised  no  ob 
jection  to  his  departure.  He  instantly  embraced  Lang- 
don's  attitude  in  his  wider  horizon. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  "let  us  sleep  on  it.  We  will  all 
be  better  able  to  discuss  matters  more  clearly  to 
morrow." 

Thenceforth  the  flat  in  Shaftesbury  Avenue  became 
a  spider's  web  into  which  the  flies  that  buzzed  around 
Philip's  life  were  drawn  one  by  one,  squeezed  dry  of 
their  store  of  information,  and  cast  forth  again  un 
conscious  of  the  plot  being  woven  against  their  master. 

Within  a  month,  Grenier  knew  Anson's  habits,  his 
comings  and  goings,  his  bankers,  his  brokers,  many 
of  his  investments,  the  names  of  his  chief  employees, 
the  members  of  his  yacht's  crew,  the  topography  of 
his  Sussex  estate.  Nothing  was  too  trivial,  no  detail 
too  unimportant,  to  escape  a  note  undecipherable  to 
others  and  a  niche  in  a  retentive  memory. 

He  made  a  friend  of  one  of  Philip's  footmen  by 
standing  treat  and  listening  reverently  to  his  views  on 
the  next  day's  racing.  He  persuaded  one  kitchen 
maid  in  Park  Lane  and  another  at  Fairfax  Hall  that 
he  had  waited  all  his  life  to  discover  a  woman  he  could 
love  devotedly.  It  was  a  most  important  discovery 
when  he  unearthed  in  a  dingy  hotel  the  man  whom 
Philip  had  dismissed  for  tampering  with  the  locked 
portmanteau.  From  this  worthy  he  first  heard  of  the 
quaint  adjunct  to  the  belongings  of  the  young  million- 


230  THE  KING  OF 

aire,  and  judicious  inquiry  soon  revealed  that  there 
was  hardly  a  servant  in  Philip's  employ  who  did  not 
credit  the  Gladstone  bag  with  being  the  repository  of 
the  millionaire's  fortunes. 

Ordinary  people  will  credit  any  nonsense  where  dia 
monds  are  concerned.  Even  an  educated  criminal  like 
Victor  Grenier  believed  there  might  be  some  founda 
tion  for  the  absurd  theory  which  found  ready  cred 
ence  among  the  domestics. 

He  never  made  the  error  of  planning  a  burglary  or 
adroit  robbery  whereby  the  bag  might  come  into  his 
possession.  If  it  did  contain  diamonds,  and  especially 
if  it  contained  unique  specimens,  it  was  absolutely  use 
less  to  him.  But  his  vitals  yearned  for  Anson's  gold, 
and  the  question  he  asked  himself  in  every  unoccupied 
moment  was  how  he  might  succeed  in  getting  some 
portion  of  it  into  his  own  pocket. 

One  day  a  quaint  notion  entered  his  mind,  and  the 
more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  it  dominated  him.  He 
was  tall  and  well-made,  if  slim  in  figure,  and  his  face 
had  never  lost  the  plasticity  given  it  by  his  stage  ex 
perience. 

He  had  only  heard  Philip's  voice  once,  but  his  fea 
tures  and  general  appearance  were  now  quite  familiar 
to  him,  and  he  undertook  a  series  of  experiments  with 
clothing  and  make-up  to  ascertain  if  he  could  person 
ate  Anson  sufficiently  well  to  deceive  anyone  who  was 
not  an  intimate  acquaintance.  Soon  the  idea  became 
a  mania,  and  the  mania  absorbed  the  man's  intellect. 
To  be  Philip  Anson  for  a  day,  a  week!  What  would 
he  not  give  for  the  power ! 

One  evening,  when  Jocky  Mason  entered  Grenier's 


DIAMONDS  231 

apartments  he  started  back  with  an  oath,  as  a  stranger 
approached  him  in  the  dim  light  and  said: 

"Well,  Mason,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

The  ex-burglar  and  man-slayer  seemed  to  be  so 
ready  to  commit  instant  murder  that  Grenier  himself 
was  alarmed. 

"Hold  hard,  old  chap,"  he  said,  in  his  natural  voice. 
"I  am  only  trying  an  experiment  on  you." 

"What  tomfoolery  is  this?"  shouted  the  other,  gaz 
ing  at  him  with  the  suspicious  side  glance  of  a  discom 
fited  dog  which  has  been  startled  by  some  person  fa 
miliar  to  it  in  ordinary  guise  but  masquerading  in  outre 
garments. 

"A  mere  pleasantry,  I  assure  you.  Good  heavens, 
man,  how  you  must  hate  this  fellow,  Anson,  if  you  are 
so  ready  to  slay  him  at  sight.  From  your  own  story, 
he  only  acted  as  ninety-nine  people  out  of  a  hundred 
would  have  done  in  helping  the  cop." 

"What  I  want  to  know  is,  why  you  are  playing 
tricks  on  me.  I  won't  stand  it.  I'm  not  built  that 
way." 

"Now,  Mason,  be  reasonable.  Can  I  ask  anybody 
else  if  I  resemble  Philip  Anson  when  made  up  to 
represent  him  ?" 

"Perhaps  not,  but  you  ought  to  have  warned  me. 
Besides,  I  am  worried  to-day." 

"What  has  happened  now?" 

"I  went  to  report  myself  at  Southwark  Police  Sta 
tion.  Who  should  I  find  there  but  Bradley,  the  chap 
we  used  to  call  'Sailor.'  He  is  an  inspector  now,  and, 
of  course,  he  knew  me  at  once." 

"What  of  that?" 


232  THE  KING  OF 

"He  pretended  to  take  an  interest  in  me,  and  tried 
to  lead  me  on  to  talk  about  you." 

"The  devil  he  did!" 

"Oh,  I  know  their  ways.  They  can't  do  anything 
to  me  as  long  as  I  show  up  regularly  and  keep  a  clean 
slate." 

"But  what  about  me  ?" 

"I  said  you  had  been  a  good  friend — there  was  no 
use  in  denying  that  I  was  here  pretty  often — and  that 
we  both  thought  of  emigrating." 

"Good.    We  will." 

"Not  me.     I  have  a  score  to  settle " 

"Patience,  my  worthy  friend.  Your  score  shall  be 
settled  in  full.  I  cannot  prevent  it,  even  if  I  would. 
Do  you  think  I  have  been  idle,  or  that  I  spend  Lang- 
don's  money  on  a  wild-goose  chase  ?  Not  me.  Lang- 
don  has  taken  my  advice  at  last.  He  has  met  this 
charmer  with  whom  he  is  so  infatuated.  She  almost 
recognized  him,  but  he  pretended  such  complete  igno 
rance  of  her,  and  even  of  London,  that  her  suspicions 
were  quieted." 

"What  good  is  that  to  us  ?" 

"Little,  but  it  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  try  and 
ingratiate  himself.  He  failed  most  completely,  and 
why?" 

"How  do  I  know  ?    He  is  an  ass,  anyway." 

"Exactly.  More  than  that,  the  young  lady  is  in  love 
with  Philip  Anson." 

"I'm  not." 

"But  he  is  in  love  with  her.  At  first,  both  Mrs. 
Atherley  and  the  girl  kept  him  at  arm's  length.  She 
was  too  poor,  he  too  rich.  That  difficulty  was 
smoothed  over  quite  recently,  and  they  meet  now 


DIAMONDS  233 

nearly  every  day.  Langdon  hasn't  a  dog's  chance,  and 
if  all  goes  well,  the  happy  pair  will  soon  be  off  to 
Norway  or  Switzerland  for  their  honeymoon." 

"Oh,  indeed.  Then  where  does  all  your  clever 
scheming  come  in?  Why  have  you  held  me  back? 
He  went  to  Sussex.  You  wouldn't  let  me  follow  him. 
He  was  out  late  several  nights  on  his  motor  car  along 
the  North  Road.  I  would  have  met  him  and  smashed 
his  face  in  with  a  life-preserver,  but  you  held  me  back. 
What  are  you  driving  at?  What's  the  game?" 

"You  shall  see." 

Grenier  went  to  a  cupboard  and  took  out  a  small 
box.  From  this  he  produced  a  single  check,  and  sev 
eral  slips  of  paper  on  which  were  written  names  and 
signatures. 

"That  is  an  old  check  signed  by  Philip  Anson,"  he 
said,  coolly.  "Here  is  his  signature  repeated  several 
times  for  amusement.  It  only  needs  a  man  of  action 
like  you,  an  accomplished  actor  like  myself,  to  possess 
the  necessary  nerve — the  nerve  that  risks  all  on  a  su 
preme  coup — and  we  will  be  not  only  rolling  in  money, 
but  able  to  enjoy  life  pleasantly  in  any  part  of  the 
world  we  select — even  in  London  when  the  wind 
changes  a  little." 

"You  must  talk  plainly  if  you  want  me  to  under 
stand  you,"  said  Mason,  doggedly. 

"Very  well.  You  think  I  am  somewhat  like  Philip 
Anson  at  this  moment  ?" 

"His  image,  confound  him  !" 

"No,  not  his  image.  I  would  not  humbug  his 
friends.  I  might  puzzle  them  for  a  moment,  at  a  dis 
tance,  but  let  them  speak  with  me  and  I  am  done.  It 


234  THE  KING  OF 

is  sufficient  that  I  resemble  him.  But  the  handwriting, 
that  is  good  ?" 

"First-class." 

"There  I  agree  with  you.  My  skill  in  that  direction 
has  been  admitted  by  three  bank  clerks  and  an  Old 
Bailey  judge.  And  now  for  the  coup.  If  you  intend 
to  kill  this  young  gentleman  you  may  as  well  kill  him 
to  our  mutual  advantage.  There  is  no  gain  in  being 
hanged  for  him  unnecessarily,  eh  ?" 

Mason  glared  at  him  in  silence. 

"I  see  I  must  keep  to  the  point.  We  must,  by  some 
means,  inveigle  him  to  a  place  where  you  can  work 
your  sweet  pleasure  on  him.  Ah,  that  interests  you. 
It  must  be  known  that  he  is  going  to  that  place.  It 
must  be  quite  certain  that  he  leaves  it." 

"Leaves  it !" 

"Yes,  I,  Philip  Anson  the  second,  will  leave  it.  I 
will  lay  my  plans  quite  surely.  I  will  even  telegraph 
my  movements  to  his  fiancee  and  to  his  agent,  Abing- 
don,  who  used  to  be  stipendiary  magistrate  at  Clerken- 
well.  Now,  don't  interrupt.  You  spoil  my  train  of 
thought.  Philip  Anson  will  live  again  for  days  after 
you  have — er — disposed  of  him.  By  that  time  you 
will  have  established  such  an  alibi  that  an  archangel's 
testimony  would  not  shake  it.  Then  Philip  Anson  will 
disappear,  vanish  into  thin  air,  and  with  him  a  hundred 
thousand  or  more  of  his  own  money,  some  in  gold,  but 
mostly  in  notes,  which  will  have  been  changed  so  often 
as  to  defy  anyone  to  trace  them.  As  a  precautionary 
measure,  he  will  go  out  of  his  way  to  annoy  or  insult 
the  young  lady  whom  he  intends  to  make  his  wife,  and 
that  alone  will  supply  an  explanation,  of  a  sort,  for 
his  wjsh  to  conceal  his  movements.  With  proper  man- 


DIAMONDS  235 

agement,  Philip  Anson  should  leave  the  map  without 
exciting  comment  for  weeks  after  he  is  dead,  and  when 
the  weeks  grow  into  months,  people  will  class  his  dis 
appearance  with  the  other  queer  mysteries  familiar  to 
everyone  who  reads  the  newspapers.  Neat,  isn't  it?" 

"Too  neat.     You  can't  do  it." 

"Have  you  or  I  evolved  the  idea?  Who  runs  the 
greatest  risk,  the  man  who  strikes  one  blow,  and  hides 
a  disfigured  corpse,  or  he  who  calmly  faces  hundreds 
of  men,  and  says  he  is  Philip  Anson  ?" 

"I  don't  care  about  risk,  but  if  it  comes  to  that,  I 
suppose  you  are  the  more  likely  to  be  found  out." 

"Thank  you.  You  see  my  way  at  last.  In  any 
event,  you  are  safe.  Even  suppose  I  am  discovered, 
will  I  split  on  you?  Will  I  add  a  charge  of  murder 
to  one  of  forgery  ?  Not  much  !  I  tell  you  the  scheme 
is  workable,  not  by  timid  bunglers,  but  by  clever  men. 
I  admit  I  haven't  the  nerve  to  kill  anybody,  nor  would 
I  care  to  suggest  this  present  arrangement  to  an  ac 
complice  merely  to  make  money.  But  if  you  are  re 
solved  to  end  Philip  Anson's  earthly  pilgrimage,  I 
can't  prevent  you,  and  I  fail  to  see  any  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  profit  by  the  transaction." 

"What  about  me  when  the  thing  is  done?" 

"Oh,  you  are  beginning  to  appreciate  the  other  side 
of  events.  Now,  we  will  assume  that  Philip  Anson  has 
been  dead  a  couple  of  months,  and  Victor  Grenier  has 
amassed  a  fortune  by  a  sheer  run  of  luck  on  the  turf, 
it  is  fairly  evident  that  Victor  Grenier  must  divvy  with 
Jocky  Mason,  or  the  latter  can  make  the  world  too 
hot  to  hold  him,  even  if  an  old  friend  were  unkind 
enough  to  refuse  to  disgorge  unless  under  pressure." 

Mason's  brows  wrinkled  in  thought.     The  project 


236  THE  KING  OF 

sounded  plausible  enough.  Determined  as  he  was  to 
wreak  his  vengeance  on  Philip,  Grenier's  ingenious 
idea  not  only  offered  him  a  reliable  means  of  escape, 
but  promised  a  rich  harvest  of  wealth.  Certainly  it 
was  worth  trying.  Not  once  but  many  times  during 
the  preceding  month,  Grenier  had  withheld  the  mur 
derer's  willing  hand.  When  it  did  fall,  what  keener 
satisfaction  could  he  have  than  the  knowledge  that  he 
would  be  enriched  by  the  deed? 

"I  can't  see  ahead  like  you,"  said  Mason,  at  last. 
"But  I  will  obey  orders.  You  tell  me  where  and  when ; 
I  will  be  there." 

Grenier  shifted  his  feet  uneasily. 

"I  don't  quite  mean  that,"  he  said.  "I  will  acquaint 
you  with  certain  facts  on  which  you  may  rely  abso 
lutely.  I  will  forthwith  act  myself  on  the  assumption 
that  the  real  Philip  Anson  won't  interfere  with  me. 
That  is  all." 

The  other  man  guffawed  most  unpleasantly.  This 
sophistry  did  not  appeal  to  him. 

"Put  it  any  way  you  like,"  he  said.  "You  can  de 
pend  on  me  for  my  part  of  the  bargain." 

"And  you  can  be  quite  certain  that  in  a  very  little 
while  we  need  not  trouble  our  active  wits  any  further 
as  to  the  wherewithal  to  enjoy  life.  I  have  thought 
this  idea  out  in  all  its  bearings.  It  simply  can't  fail. 
Come,  let  us  drink  to  a  glorious  future." 

He  reached  for  a  decanter,  but  a  sudden  knock  at 
the  door  jarred  the  nerves  of  both  men  considerably. 

"See  who  is  there,"  whispered  Grenier,  whose  face 
showed  white  through  the  paint  and  grease  it  bore. 

"What  about  you  in  that  rigout?"  growled  the 
stronger  ruffian. 


DIAMONDS  237 

"I  will  slip  into  my  bedroom.  Quick!  See  who 
it  is." 

Langdon  entered. 

"Where's  Victor?"  he  said,  eagerly. 

"In  his  room ;  he  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  What's 
the  matter?  You  look  pretty  glum." 

"I've  had  a  piece  of  wretched  luck.  I  was  at  Mrs. 
Atherley's  'At  Home'  to-day,  when  Anson  turned  up. 
I  met  him  without  winking,  but  he  knew  me  at  once. 
He  called  me  outside  and  treated  me  like  a  dog." 

"He  did,  eh?" 

"Yes.  It  was  no  good  trying  to  bluff  him.  Only 
on  the  guarantee  that  I  would  never  meet  Miss  Ather- 
ley  again  would  he  consent  not  to  expose  me.  I'm 
done.  My  last  chance  is  gone.  I  have  wasted  my 
money  on  Grenier's  mad  notions,  and  was  fool  enough 
to  think  you  meant  what  you  said  when  you  swore  to 
have  Anson 's  life." 

Grenier,  who  had  heard  every  word,  reappeared. 

"Does  Philip  Anson  know  that  Mr.  James  Crichton 
Langdon  is  Sir  Philip  Morland's  stepson?"  he  asked. 

"I  can't  tell.     What  does  it  matter,  anyhow  ?" 

"Think,  man,  think!  Does  he  even  know  your 
name  ?" 

"He  can  easily  find  it  out." 

"Not  he.  This  young  spark  has  a  fine  sense  of 
honor.  You  promised  to  keep  away  from  the  lady  in 
future.  He  will  never  even  mention  you.  And  your 
money  is  not  lost.  It  has  been  well  spent,  every 
farthing.  Take  care  Miss  Evelyn  does  not  see  you 
until  she  is  heartbroken  about  Philip  Anson.  She  will 
be;  you  can  be  quite  sure  of  it.  Then  your  oppor 
tunity  will  come." 


238  THE  KING  OF 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Inmates  of  the  Grange  House. 

Philip  walked  on  roses  during  those  glorious  days. 
He  had  found  his  mate.  His  life  was  complete.  Plow 
bright  the  world,  and  how  fair  the  future. 

The  only  disagreeable  incident  marring  the  utter 
joy  of  existence,  and  that  only  for  an  instant,  was  his 
encounter  with  Langdon  at  Mrs.  Atherley's  pretty  fiat 
in  Mount  Street. 

Grenier,  endowed  by  nature  with  an  occasional 
retrospective  glimpse  of  a  nobler  character,  read  him 
correctly,  when  he  said  that  Anson  would  never  con 
descend  to  name  the  intruder  in  the  presence  of  the 
woman  he  loved. 

But  he  did  ask  a  servant  who  it  was  with  whom  he 
had  just  been  conversing  in  the  entrance  hall,  and  the 
girl  said  the  gentleman  was  a  Mr.  Langdon.  No; 
Mrs.  Atherley  did  not  know  him  well.  He  was 
brought  to  her  "At  Home"  on  a  previous  Wednesday 
by  a  friend. 

Obviously  Evelyn  could  not  have  more  than  a  pass 
ing  acquaintance  with  the  man,  or  she  would  have 
recognized  him  herself.  Her  agitation  that  night  in 
the  park,  the  terror  of  a  difficult  situation,  was  enough 
to  account  for  her  failure  in  this  respect,  nor  was 
Philip  then  aware  that  at  her  previous  meeting  with 
Lady  Morland's  son  she  entertained  a  curious  sus 
picion,  instantly  dispelled  by  his  glib  manner,  that 


DIAMONDS  239 

Langdon  was  the  man  who  sought  to  thrust  his  un 
welcome  attentions  upon  her. 

Mount  Street — how  came  Mrs.  Atherley  and  her 
daughter  to  return  to  the  precincts  of  Mayfair?  That 
was  a  little  secret  betwyeen  Philip  and  Lord  Vanstone. 

When  Evelyn  slyly  endeavored  to  make  her  new 
admirer  understand  that  there  could  be  no  intimacy 
between  a  millionaire  and  a  young  lady  who  was  em 
barking  on  a  professional  career — she  thought  so,  be 
it  recorded ;  this  is  no  canon  of  art — he  seemingly  dis 
regarded  the  hint,  but  interviewed  Lord  Vanstone  next 
morning. 

The  conversation  was  stormy  on  one  side  and  em 
phatic  on  the  other.  Philip  had  heard  sufficient  of 
Mrs.  Atherley's  history  by  judicious  inquiry  to  enable 
him  to  place  some  unpleasant  facts  before  his  lordship. 

When  the  facts  had  been  thrust  down  the  aristocratic 
gorge,  Anson  turned  to  pleasanter  topics.  He  in 
formed  Lord  Vanstone,  who  bore  the  title  as  the  third 
son  of  a  marquis,  that  his  niece's  future  was  more  im 
portant  than  his  lordship's  dignity.  He  must  eat  mud 
for  her  sake,  and  willingly  withal. 

Various  firms  of  solicitors  set  to  work,  and,  mar 
velous  to  relate,  Lord  Vanstone  was  able  to  write  and 
inform  his  half-sister  that  certain  speculations  in  which 
he  had  invested  her  fortune  were  turning  out  well.  A 
cash  payment  of  two  thousand  pounds  would  be  made 
to  her  at  once,  and  she  possessed  an  assured  income 
of  at  least  one  thousand  five  hundred  pounds  per  an 
num  during  the  remainder  of  her  life. 

The  poor  lady  had  heard  these  fairy  tales  before; 
indeed,  some  such  story  of  more  gorgeous  proportions 
had  converted  her  consols  into  waste  paper. 


240  THE  KING  OF 

But  a  lawyer,  not  Lord  Vanstone's,  sent  her  a  check 
for  the  larger  amount,  and,  at  a  subsequent  interview, 
affirmed  the  statements  made  by  her  unreliable  rela 
tive. 

So  she  went  back  to  her  caste,  and  her  caste  wel 
comed  her  with  open  arms,  and  the  dear  woman 
thanked  Providence  for  the  decree  that  her  daughter 
might  now  accept  the  attentions  of  any  man,  no  mat 
ter  how  rich  he  might  be,  for  she  saw  the  drift  of 
Philip's  wishes,  and,  if  Evelyn  were  married  to  him, 
surely  all  their  previous  trials  might  be  deemed  fortu 
nate. 

She  little  dreamed  that  imperious  Philip  had  ordered 
matters  his  own  way. 

It  was  not  to  his  thinking  that  his  bride  should  come 
to  him  from  the  genteel  obscurity  of  Maida  Crescent. 
He  would  give  her  a  great  position,  worthy  of  the 
highest  in  the  land,  and  it  was  better  for  her  that  he 
should  woo  and  win  her  from  the  ranks  of  her  order. 

It  should  not  be  imagined  that  he  was  hasty  in  his 
decision.  To  his  mind,  Evelyn  and  he  were  known  to 
each  other  since  they  were  children.  It  was  not  by  the 
wayward  caprice  of  chance  that  he  met  her  on  the 
night  of  the  meteor's  fall,  nor  again,  that  he  came  to 
her  assistance  a  second  time  after  the  lapse  of  years. 

It  was  his  mother's  work.  He  was  faithful  to  her 
memory — she  to  her  trust.  Never  did  his  confidence 
waver.  On  the  day  that  Evelyn  consented  to  marry 
him  he  showed  her  his  mother's  photograph,  and  told 
her  his  belief. 

The  girl's  happy  tears  bedewed  the  picture. 

"A  good  son  makes  a  good  husband,"  she  murmured. 


DIAMONDS  241 

"Mamma  says  I  have  been  a  good  daughter,  and  I  will 
try  to  be  a  good  wife,  Philip." 

Apparently  these  young  people  had  attained  the  very 
pinnacle  of  earthly  happiness.  There  was  no  cloud, 
no  obstacle.  All  that  was  best  in  the  world  was  at 
their  feet. 

Some-  such  thought  flitted  through  Philip's  active 
brain  once  when  Evelyn  and  he  were  discussing  the 
future. 

"Of  course  we  will  be  busy,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"You  are  such  an  industrious  little  woman — what? 
Well — such  an  industrious  tall  woman — that  the  days 
won't  be  long  enough  for  all  you  will  find  to  do.  As 
for  me,  I  suppose  I  must  try  and  earn  a  peerage,  just 
to  give  you  your  proper  place  in  society,  and  then  we 
will  grow  old  gracefully." 

"Oh,  Philip,"  she  cried,  placing  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders.  "We  met  once  as  children  for  a  few  min 
utes.  Fate  ordained  that  we  should  meet  again  under 
strange  circumstances.  We  were  separated  for  years. 
Can  fate  play  us  any  uncanny  trick  that  will  separate 
us  again?" 

"Well,  sweetheart,  fate,  in  the  shape  of  Wale,  is 
coming  for  me  at  six.  Unless  you  wish  me  to  send 
for  my  man  and  dress  here " 

"Sometimes  I  cannot  quite  credit  my  good  fortune," 
she  said,  softly.  "Tell  me,  dearest,  how  did  you  man 
age  to  live  until  you  were  twenty-five  without  falling 
in  love  with  some  other  girl?" 

"That  is  ridiculously  easy.  Tell  me  how  you  man 
aged  to  escape  matrimony  until  you  were  twenty-two 
and  you  are  answered." 

"Philip,  I — I  liked  you  that  night  I  saw  you  in  the 


242  THE  KING  OF 

square.  You  were  a  woe-begone  little  boy,  but  you 
were  so  brave,  and  gave  me  your  hand  to  help  me  from 
the  carriage  with  the  air  of  a  young  lord." 

"And  I  have  cherished  your  face  in  my  waking 
dreams  ever  since.  You  looked  like  a  fairy.  And 
how  you  stuck  up  for  me  against  your  uncle !" 

"Tell  me,  what  did  you  think  of  me  when  you  saw 
me  standing  disconsolate  in  the  park?" 

Tell,  tell,  tell — it  was  nothing  but  sweet  questions 
and  sweet  assurances  that  this  pair  of  turtle  doves  had 
been  seeking  each  other  through  all  eternity. 

Their  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  middle  of  July. 
Sharp  work,  it  may  be  said,  but  what  need  was  there 
to  wait?  Mr.  Abingdon  was  greatly  pleased  with 
Philip's  choice,  and  urged  him  to  settle  down  at  the 
earliest  possible  date. 

Mrs.  Atherley,  too,  raised  no  protest.  The  sooner 
her  beloved  daughter  was  married,  the  more  rapidly 
would  life  resume  its  normal  aspect ;  they  would  not  be 
long  parted  from  each  other. 

The  young  people  had  no  housekeeping  cares. 
Philip's  mansions  were  replete  with  all  that  could  be 
desired  by  the  most  fastidious  taste.  His  yacht  was 
brought  to  the  Solent,  so  that  they  could  run  over  to 
i  Portsmouth  on  a  motor  car  to  inspect  her,  and  Evelyn 
instantly  determined  that  their  honeymoon  in  Etretat 
should  be  curtailed  to  permit  them  to  go  for  a  three- 
weeks'  cruise  around  the  British  coast. 

This  suggestion,  of  course,  appealed  to  Philip. 
Nothing  could  be  more  delightful.  He  whispered  in 
Evelyn's  ear  that  he  would  hug  her  for  the  idea  at  the 
first  available  opportunity. 

One  morning,  a  day  of  June  rain,  a  letter  reached 


DIAMONDS  243 

Philip.  It  bore  the  printed  superscription,  "The  Hall, 
Beltham,  Devon,"  but  this  was  struck  out  and  another 
address  substituted.  It  was  written  in  a  scrawling, 
wavering  hand,  the  caligraphy  of  a  man  old  and  very 
ill.  It  read : 

"My  DEAR  PHILIP  :  I  am  lying  at  the  point  of  death, 
so  I  use  no  labored  words  to  explain  why  I  address  you 
in  such  manner.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  bitterly  I 
regret  the  injustice  I  showed  to  your  dear  mother  and 
my  sister.  If,  of  your  charity,  you  will  come  to  my 
bedside,  and  assure  a  feeble  old  man  of  your  forgive 
ness,  I  can  meet  the  coming  ordeal  strong  in  the  cer 
tainty  that  Mary  Anson  will  not  refuse  what  you  have 
given  in  her  behalf. 

"Your  sorrowing  uncle, 

"PHILIP  MORLAND." 

With  this  piteous  epistle  was  inclosed  another. 

"DEAR  MR.  ANSON  :  I  join  my  earnest  supplication 
to  my  husband's  that  you  will  console  his  last  hours 
with  a  visit.  He  blames  himself  for  what  has  hap 
pened  in  the  past.  Yet  the  fault  was  more  mine  than 
his — far  more.  For  his  sake  I  willingly  admit  it.  And 
I  have  been  punished  for  my  sin.  Ruined  in  fortune, 
with  my  husband  at  death's  door,  I  am  indeed  a  sor 
rowing  woman. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"LOUISA  MORLAND." 

The  angular  Italian  handwriting  of  the  second  letter 
recalled  a  faded  script  in  his  safe  at  that  moment.  The 
address  in  each  case  was  a  village  on  the  Yorkshire 
coast,  a  remote  and  inaccessible  place  according  to 
Philip's  unaided  recollection  of  the  map.  "Grange 
House"  might  be  a  farm  or  a  broken-down  manor,  and 
Lady  Morland's  admission  of  reduced  circumstances 


244  THE  KING  OF 

indicated  that  they  had  chosen  the  locality  for  econ 
omy's  sake. 

These  appeals  brought  a  frown  of  indecision  to  An- 
son's  brow.  His  uncle,  and  his  uncle's  wife,  had  un 
questionably  been  the  means  of  shortening  and  embit 
tering  his  mother's  life.  The  man  might  have  acted  in 
ignorance  ;  the  woman  did  not. 

Yet  what  could  he  do?  Refuse  a  dying  relative's 
last  request !  They,  or  one  of  them,  refused  his 
mother's  pitiful  demand  for  a  little  pecuniary  help  at  a 
time  when  they  were  rich. 

And  what  dire  mischance  could  have  sunk  them  into 
poverty.  Little  more  than  two  months  had  passed 
since  Sir  Philip  Morland  was  inquiring  for  his — 
Philip's — whereabouts  through  Messrs.  Sharpe  & 
Smith  with  a  view  toward  making  him  his  heir. 

Was  the  inquiry  Lady  Morland's  last  ruse  to  save  an 
encumbered  estate?  Why  was  all  pretense  of  doubt 
as  to  his  relationship  swept  aside  so  completely? 

He  glanced  again  at  the  address  on  the  letter,  and 
asked  a  servant  to  bring  him  a  railway  guide.  Then 
he  ascertained  that  if  he  would  reach  Scarsdale  that 
day  he  must  leave  London  not  later  than  noon.  There 
was  a  journey  of  nearly  seven  hours  by  rail ;  no  chance 
of  returning  the  same  night. 

He  went  to  the  library  and  rang  up  Sharpe  &  Smith 
on  the  telephone. 

A  clerk  assured  him  that  Mr.  Sharpe,  who  attended 
to  Sir  Philip  Morland's  affairs,  had  been  summoned 
to  Devonshire  the  previous  day. 

"To  Devonshire!"  cried  Philip.  "I  have  just  re 
ceived  letters  from  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Morland  from 
Yorkshire." 


DIAMONDS 

"Mr.  Sharpe  himself  is  puzzled  about  the  matter,  sir. 
Lady  Morland  wrote  from  Yorkshire,  but  told  him  to 
proceed  to  Devonshire  without  delay." 

"Has  there  been  some  unexpected  devolopment  af 
fecting  the  estate  ?" 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  you  will  see  I  can  hardly  answer 
any  further  questions." 

Of  course  the  clerk  was  right.  Philip  had  hardly 
quitted  the  telephone  when  a  note  reached  him  by  hand 
from  Evelyn :  "Please  come  at  once.  Must  see  you." 

He  was  at  Mount  Street  in  three  minutes. 

Evelyn  looked  serious  and  began  by  holding  out  a 
letter  to  him.  He  recognized  Lady  Morland's  writing. 

"Philip — those  people — who  behaved  so  badly  to 
your  mother " 

"Have  they  dared  to  trouble  you  ?" 

"Oh,  it  is  so  sad.  Your  uncle  is  dying.  They  are 
wretchedly  poor ;  an  unforeseen  collapse.  See."  And 
she  read : 

"Of  your  pity,  Miss  Atherley,  ask  your  affianced  hus 
band  to  come  to  us,  and  to  help  us.  I  want  nothing 
for  myself,  but  the  mere  sight  of  a  few  checks  to  pay 
tradespeople,  doctor  and  the  rest  will  soothe  Sir  Philip's 
last  hours.  He  is  a  proud  man,  and  I  know  he  is 
heartbroken  to  think  he  is  dying  a  pauper  among 
strangers." 

So  it  ended  as  might  be  expected.  Philip  wired  to 
Grange  House,  Scarsdale,  to  announce  his  coming. 
Accompanied  by  his  valet,  he  left  King's  Cross  at 
twelve  o'clock,  but  his  parting  words  to  Evelyn  were : 

"See  Mr.  Abingdon  after  luncheon,  dear,  and  tell 
him  what  I  am  doing.  I  will  return  to-morrow ;  mean- 


246  THE  KING  OF 

while,  I  will  keep  you  informed  by  telegraph  of  my 
movements." 

After  leaving  the  main  line  at  York  there  was  a 
tiresome  crawl  to  the  coast,  broken  by  changes  at  junc 
tions — wearying  intervals  spent  in  pacing  monotonous 
platforms. 

At  last  the  train  reached  Scarsdale  at  twenty  min 
utes  to  seven.  A  few  passengers  alighted.  The  place 
was  evidently  a  small  village  not  given  over  to  the 
incursions  of  summer  visitors. 

A  tall  man,  with  "doctor"  writ  large  on  his  silk  hat 
and  frock  coat,  approached  Philip. 

"Mr.  Anson?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  Dr.  Williams.  I  have  brought  you  a  letter 
from  Lady  Morland.  Perhaps  you  will  read  it  now. 
I  expect  it  explains  my  errand." 

"Sir  Philip  is  still  living?" 

"Yes,  but  sinking  fast." 

Anson  tore  open  the  note.     It  was  brief. 

"Thank  you  for  your  prompt  kindness.  Dr.  Wil 
liams  will  drive  you  to  the  house.  If  you  have  brought 
a  servant  he  might  take  your  luggage  to  the  Fox  and 
Hounds  Inn,  where  Dr.  Williams  has  secured  rooms 
for  you.  I  regret  exceedingly  we  have  no  accommoda 
tion  here,  but,  in  any  event,  you  will  be  more  com 
fortable  at  the  inn." 

He  looked  at  the  doctor.     In  a  vague  way,  his  voice 

recalled  accents  he  seemed  to  recognize. 
"Is  there  a  telegraph  office  here?" 
"Yes.     We  pass  it.     It  closes  at  eight." 
"I  will  not  be  back  from  the  Grange  House  before 

then?" 


DIAMONDS  247 

"Hardly.     It  is  a  half-hour's  drive." 

"Thank  you.  You  will  stop  a  moment  at  the  tele 
graph  office?" 

The  doctor  hesitated. 

"There  is  so  little  time.  Is  it  of  great  importance? 
Of  course " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  to  do.  Green — take  my  traps  to 
the  Fox  and  Hounds  Inn.  Then  go  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  send  a  message  in  my  name  to  Miss  Ather- 
ley,  saying :  'Arrived.  Sir  Philip  worse.'  That  is  all." 

Anson's  valet  saluted  and  left  them.  Dr.  Williams 
said  cheerfully : 

"That  disposes  of  a  difficulty.  Are  you  ready,  Mr. 
Anson  ?" 

They  entered  a  ramshackle  dogcart,  for  which  the 
doctor  apologized. 

"These  hills  knock  one's  conveyances  to  pieces.  I 
am  having  a  new  cart  built,  but  it  will  be  done  for  in 
a  couple  of  years.  Out  in  all  weathers,  you  see.  To 
carry  you  I  had  to  leave  my  man  at  home." 

The  doctor  himself  seemed  to  be  young  and  smart- 
looking.  Evidently  Scarsdale  agreed  with  him,  if  not 
with  his  vehicles.  The  horse,  too,  was  a  good  one, 
and  they  moved  through  a  scattered  village  at  a  quick 
trot. 

They  met  a  number  of  people,  but  Dr.  Williams  was 
talking  so  eagerly  to  his  companion  that  he  did  not 
nod  to  any  of  them. 

As  the  road  began  to  climb  toward  a  bleak  moorland 
he  became  less  voluble,  more  desirous  to  get  Anson 
to  speak.  Philip  thought  that  the  doctor  listened  to 
him  with  a  curious  eagerness.  Probably  Sir  Philip 
and  Lady  Morland  impressed  him  as  an  odd  couple; 


248  THE  KING  OF 

he  would  be  anxious  to  learn  what  sort  of  relative  this 
was  who  had  traveled  from  London  to  see  them. 

Philip  was  in  small  humor  for  conversation.  He 
looked  forward  to  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  interview, 
when  his  lips  would  utter  consoling  words  to  which  he 
must  strive  to  impart  a  genuine  and  heartfelt  ring ;  that 
would  need  an  effort,  to  say  the  least. 

The  road  wound  its  way  through  pines  and  heather, 
but  ever  upward,  until  the  trees  yielded  to  an  un 
broken  range  of  open  mountain,  and  the  farms  that 
nestled  in  nooks  of  the  hillside  disappeared  wholly. 

Glimpses  of  the  sea  were  caught  where  a  precipitous 
valley  tore  a  cleft  in  the  land.  On  a  lofty  brow  in 
front  Philip  saw  a  solitary  and  half -dismantled 
building. 

"Is  that  the  Grange  House?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"Why  on  earth  did  two  old  people,  one  of  them  an 
invalid,  select  such  a  lonely  residence?" 

"That  has  been  puzzling  me  for  days." 

"How  long  have  they  been  here?" 

"I  cannot  say.     I  was  only  called  in  four  days  ago." 

They  passed  a  policeman  patrolling  his  country  beat. 
The  doctor  gave  him  an  affable  smile.  The  man  sa 
luted  promptly,  but  looked  after  them  with  a  puzzled 
air.  He  continued  to  watch  them  at  intervals  until 
they  reached  the  Grange  House. 

Anson  noticed  that  the  track,  it  was  a  gate-guarded 
bridle  path  now,  mounted  steadily  to  the  very 
threshold. 

"The  place  stands  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff,"  he  said. 

"Yes,     It  was  built  by  some  recluse.     The  rock  falls 


DIAMONDS  249 

sheer,  indeed  slopes  inwards  to  some  extent,  for  three 
hundred  feet." 

"Some  day,  I  suppose,  it  will  fall  into  the  sea?" 

"Probably,  but  not  in  our  time.  Here  we  are.  Just 
allow  me  to  hitch  the  reins  to  the  gatepost." 

He  jumped  lightly  out  of  the  dogcart. 

"Are  there  no  servants?" 

"Only  an  old  woman  and  her  daughter.  They  are 
busy  at  this  hour." 

Philip  understood  that  a  meal  might  be  in  prepara 
tion.  He  hoped  not ;  personally,  he  could  not  eat  there. 

Dr.  Williams  pressed  the  latch  of  an  old-fashioned 
door.  He  whispered : 

"Be  as  quiet  as  possible.  He  may  be  asleep;  if  he 
is,  it  will  not  be  for  long,  poor  fellow." 

Indeed  the  doctor  himself  betrayed  some  slight  agi 
tation  now.  He  perspired  somewhat,  and  his  hand 
shook. 

Anson  followed  him  into  a  somber  apartment,  crudely 
furnished,  half  dining  room,  half  kitchen.  Though 
the  light  of  a  June  evening  was  clear  enough  outside, 
the  interior  of  the  house  was  gloomy  in  the  extreme. 
There  were  some  dark  curtains  shrouding  a  doorway. 

"Lady  Morland  is  in  there,"  murmured  the  doctor, 
brokenly.  "Will  you  go  to  her?" 

Philip  obeyed  in  silence.  He  passed  through  the 
curtains.  It  was  so  dark  that  he  imagined  he  must  be 
in  a  passage  with  a  door  at  the  other  end. 

"Can't  I  have  a  light?"  he  asked,  partly  turning  to 
ward  the  room  he  had  just  quitted. 

In  the  neglected  garden  at  the  landward  front  of  the 
Grange  House  the  horse  stood  patiently  on  three  legs, 


250  THE  KING  OF 

ruminating,  no  doubt,  on  the  steepness  of  hills  and  the 
excellence  of  pastures. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  thus,  in  solemn  quietude. 
Then  a  boy  on  a  bicycle,  red-faced  with  exertion, 
pedaled  manfully  up  the  hill,  and  through  the  gate. 

"I  hope  he's  here,"  thought  he.  "It's  a  long  way 
to  coorn  for  nothin'." 

Around  his  waist  was  a  strap  with  a  pouch  bearing 
the  king's  monogram.  He  ran  up  to  the  door  and 
gave  a  couple  of  thunderous  knocks,  the  privileged  rat- 
tat  of  a  telegraph  messenger. 

There  was  a  long  delay.  Then  a  heavy  step  ap 
proached,  and  a  man  opened  the  door,  a  big,  heavy- 
faced  man,  with  eyes  that  stared  dreadfully,  and  a  nose 
damaged  in  life's  transit. 

"Philip  Anson,  Esquire,"  said  the  boy,  briskly,  pro 
ducing  a  buff-colored  envelope. 

The  man  seemed  to  swallow  something. 

"Yes ;  he's  here.     Is  that  for  him?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Any  reply?" 

The  man  took  the  telegram,  closed  the  door,  and 
the  boy  heard  his  retreating  footsteps.  After  some 
minutes  he  returned. 

"It's  too  late  to  reply  to-night,  isn't  it?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir.  It  coom'd  after  hours,  but  they'd  paid 
t'  porterage  i'  Lunnon,  so  t'  postmistress  said  ye'd 
mebbe  like  to  hev  it  at  yance.  I've  ridden  all  t'  way 
frae  Scarsdale." 

Late  that  evening,  when  the  protracted  gloaming  of 
the  north  was  fast  yielding  to  the  shadows  of  a  cloudy 
night,  the  big  man  from  the  Grange  House  drove  into 
Scarsdale.  He  pulled  up  at  the  Fox  and  Hounds  pub 
lic  house.  He  wanted  Mr.  Green. 


DIAMONDS  251 

Anson's  valet  came. 

"Your  master  says  you  are  to  bring  his  portmanteau 
to  the  Grange  House  to-night.  He  intends  remaining 
there.  You  must  get  the  landlord  to  sit  up  until  you 
return.  It  will  take  you  an  hour  and  a  half  to  drive 
both  ways." 

Green  was  ready  in  five  minutes.  He  learned  that 
a  stable  boy  must  crouch  at  their  feet  to  bring  the  dog 
cart  back.  It  was  the  property  of  the  Fox  and  Hounds' 
proprietor. 

Very  unwillingly  the  horse  swung  off  again  toward 
the  moor.  There  was  little  conversation.  The  driver 
was  taciturn,  the  Londoner  somewhat  scared  by  the 
dark  loneliness. 

At  the  Grange  House  they  were  met  by  Philip  An- 
son.  He  stood  in  the  open  doorway.  He  held  a  hand 
kerchief  to  his  lips  and  spoke  in  a  husky  voice,  the 
voice  of  one  under  the  stress  of  great  agitation : 

"That  you,  Green  ?  Just  give  my  bag  to  the  driver 
and  return  to  the  village.  Here  is  a  five-pound  note. 
Pay  your  bill  and  go  back  to  London  by  the  first  train 
to-morrow.  I  stop  here  some  few  days." 

The  astonished  servant  took  the  note.  Before  he 
could  reply,  his  master  turned,  crossed  a  room  feebly 
lighted  by  a  dull  lamp,  and  passed  through  a  curtained 
doorway. 

Green  was  staring  perplexedly  at  the  house,  the 
kitchen,  his  ill-favored  companion  carrying  Philip's 
portmanteau  within,  when  he  heard  his  master's  voice 
again,  and  saw  him  standing  between  the  partly  drawn 
curtains,  with  his  face  quite  visible  in  the  dim  rays  of 
the  lamp. 

"Green?" 


252  THE  KING  OF 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Here  are  my  keys.  Unlock  the  bag  and  take  the 
keys  with  you.  You  remember  the  small  portmanteau 
in  my  safe  at  Park  Lane  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Open  the  safe,  get  that  bag,  and  send  it  to  me  to 
morrow  night  by  train  to  the  Station  Hotel,  York." 

"To-morrow  night,  sir?" 

"Yes." 

The  keys  were  thrown  with  a  rattle  onto  a  broad 
kitchen  table.  Evidently  Mr.  Anson  would  not  brook 
questions  as  to  his  movements,  though  his  few  words 
sounded  contradictory.  Green  got  down,  unfastened 
the  portmanteau  and  went  back  to  the  dogcart. 

"They're  queer  folk  i'  t'  grange,"  said  the  stable  boy, 
as  they  drove  away.  "There's  a  barrow-night  and  a 
lady  as  nobody  ever  sees,  an'  a  dochtor,  an'  a  man — 
him  as  kem  for  ye." 

"Surely  they  are  well  known  here?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  On'y  bin  here  about  a  week.  T' 
doctor  chap's  very  chirpy,  but  yon  uther  is  a  rum  'un." 

Green  was  certainly  puzzled  very  greatly  by  the  un 
expected  developments  of  the  last  few  minutes,  but  he 
was  discreet  and  well  trained. 

He  liked  his  young  master,  and  would  do  anything 
to  serve  his  interests.  Moreover,  the  ways  of  million 
aires  were  not  the  ways  of  other  men.  All  he  could 
do  was  to  hear  and  obey. 

He  slept  none  the  less  soundly  because  his  master 
chose  voluntarily  to  bury  himself,  even  for  a  little  while, 
in  such  a  weirdly  tumbledown,  old  mansion  as  the 
Grange  House. 


DIAMONDS  253 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"Revenge  is  Mine;  I  Will  Repay." 

"Can't  I  have  a  light?"  said  Philip,  with  head 
screwed  round  to  ascertain  if  the  doctor  were  following 
him. 

Some  sense,  whether  of  sight  or  hearing  he  knew 
not,  warned  him  of  movement  near  at  hand,  an  im 
palpable  effort,  a  physical  tension  as  of  a  man  laboring 
under  extreme  but  repressed  excitement. 

He  paid  little  heed  to  it.  All  the  surroundings  in 
this  weird  dwelling  were  so  greatly  at  variance  with 
his  anticipations  that  he  partly  expected  to  find  fur 
ther  surprises. 

Dr.  Williams  did  not  answer.  Philip  advanced  a 
halting  foot,  a  hesitating  hand  groping  for  a  door. 

Instantly  a  stout  rope  fell  over  his  shoulders,  a  noose 
was  tightly  drawn,  and  he  was  jerked  violently  to  the 
stone  floor  of  the  passage.  He  fell  prone  on  his  face, 
hurting  his  nose  and  mouth.  The  shock  jarred  him 
greatly,  but  his  hands,  if  not  his  arms,  were  free,  and, 
with  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  that  replaces  all 
other  sensations  in  moments  of  extreme  peril,  he  strove 
valiantly  to  rise. 

But  he  was  grasped  by  the  neck  with  brutal  force, 
and  some  one  knelt  on  his  back. 

"Philip  Anson,"  hissed  a  man's  voice,  "do  you  re 
member  Jocky  Mason?" 

So  he  had  fallen  into  a  trap,  cunningly  prepared  by 
what  fiendish  combination  of  fact  and  artifice  he  had 


254  THE  KING  OF 

yet  to  learn.     Jocky  Mason,  the  skulking-  criminal  of 
Johnson's  Mews.    Was  he  in  that  man's  power  ? 

Under  such  conditions  a  man  thinks  quickly.  Phil 
ip's  first  ordered  thought  was  one  of  relief.  He  had 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  an  English  brigand.  Money 
would  settle  this  difficulty,  if  all  other  means  failed. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  gurgled,  half-strangled  by  the  fierce 
pressure  on  his  throat. 

"You  hit  me  once  from  behind.  You  can't  complain 
if  I  do  the  same.  You  sent  me  to  a  living  hell  for  ten 
years — not  your  fault  that  it  wasn't  forever.  Lie  still ! 
Not  all  your  money  can  save  you  now.  I  am  judge  and 
jury,  and  hell  itself.  You  are  dying — dying — dead  !" 
And  with  the  final  words  drawled  into  his  ears  with 
bitter  intensity,  Philip  felt  a  terrible  blow  descend  on 
his  head.  There  was  no  pain,  no  fear,  no  poignant 
emotion  at  leaving  all  the  world  held  so  dear  to  him. 
There  was  an  awful  shock.  A  thundercloud  seemed  to 
burst  in  his  brain,  and  he  sank  into  the  void  without 
a  groan. 

Now,  in  falling,  the  hard,  felt  hat  he  wore  dropped 
in  front  of  his  face.  The  first  wild  movement  of  his 
head  tilted  it  outward,  but  the  savage  jerk  given  by 
his  assailant  brought  the  rim  slightly  over  his  skull 
again. 

In  the  almost  complete  darkness  of  the  passage, 
Mason  could  not  see  the  slight  protection  this  afforded 
to  his  victim,  and  the  sledge-hammer  blow  he  delivered 
with  a  life-preserver — that  murderous  implement 
named  so  utterly  at  variance  with  its  purpose — did  not 
reveal  the  presence  of  an  obstacle. 

He  struck  with  a  force  that  would  have  stunned 
an  ox ;  it  must  have  killed  any  man,  be  he  the  hardest- 


DIAMONDS  255 

skulled  aborigine  that  ever  breathed.  But  the  stout 
rim  of  the  hat,  though  crushed  like  an  eggshell,  took 
off  some  of  the  leaden  instrument's  tremendous  im 
pact.  Philip,  though  quite  insensible,  was  not  dead. 
His  sentient  faculties  were  annihilated  for  the  time, 
but  his  heart  continued  its  life-giving  functions,  and 
he  breathed  with  imperceptible  flutterings. 

Mason  rose,  panting  with  excitement,  glutted  with 
satisfied  hate.  He  lifted  his  victim's  inert  form  with 
the  ease  of  his  great  strength. 

"Come  on !"  he  shouted,  and  strode  toward  a  door 
which  he  kicked  open. 

A  step  sounded  haltingly  in  the  passage.  Grenier, 
the  soi-di-sant  doctor,  livid  now  and  shaking  with  the 
ague  of  irretrievable  crime,  stumbled  after  his  more 
callous  associate.  Unconsciously  he  kicked  Philip's  hat 
to  one  side.  He  entered  the  room,  an  apartment  with 
a  boundless  view  of  the  sea. 

Here  there  was  more  light  than  in  the  kitchen.  The 
windows  faced  toward  the  northwest,  and  the  last  radi-> 
ance  of  a  setting  sun  illumined  a  wall  on  the  right. 

"Not  there  !"  he  gasped.  "In  this  chair ;  his  face — I 
must  see  his  face !" 

Mason,  still  clasping  his  inanimate  burden,  laughed 
with  a  snarl. 

"Stop  that,"  he  roared.  "Pull  yourself  together. 
Get  some  brandy.  I've  done  my  work.  If  you  can't 
do  yours,  let  me  finish  it." 

"Oh,  just  a  moment !  Give  me  time !  I  hate  the 
sight  of  blood.  Get  a  towel.  Bind  it  round  his  neck. 
His  clothes !  They  will  be  saturated.  And  wipe  his 
face.  I  must  see  his  face." 

Grenier  was  hysterical;  he  had  the  highly  strung 


256  THE  KING  OF 

nervous  system  of  a  girl  where  deeds  of  bloodshed  were 
concerned.  While  Mason  obeyed  his  instructions  he 
pressed  his  hands  over  his  eyes. 

"Bring  some  brandy,  white-liver.  Do  you  want  me 
to  do  everything?" 

This  gruff  order  awoke  Grenier  to  trembling  action. 
He  went  to  a  cupboard  and  procured  a  bottle.  Mason, 
having  placed  Anson  in  a  chair  and  steadied  his  head 
against  the  wall,  seized  half  a  tumblerful  of  the  neat 
spirit  and  drank  it  with  gusto.  The  other,  gradually 
recovering  his  self-control,  was  satisfied  with  a  less 
potential  draught. 

"It  will  be  dark  soon,"  growled  Mason.  "We  must 
undress  him  first,  you  said." 

"Yes.     If  his  clothes  are  not  blood-stained." 

"Rot!  He  must  go  into  the  water  naked  in  any 
case.  The  idea  is  your  own." 

"Ah !  I  forgot.  It  will  soon  be  all  right.  Besides, 
I  knew  I  should  be  upset,  so  I  have  everything  written 
down  here — all  fully  thought  out.  There  can  be  no 
mistake  made  then." 

He  produced  a  little  notebook  and  opened  it  with 
uncertain  fingers.  He  glanced  at  a  closely  written 
page.  The  words  danced  before  his  vision,  but  he 
persevered. 

"Yes.  His  coat  first.  Then  his  boots.  Clothes  or 
linen  stained  with  blood  to  be  burned,  after  cutting  off 
all  buttons.  Now,  I'm  ready.  I  will  not  funk  any 
more." 

His  temperament  linked  the  artistic  and  criminal 
faculties  in  sinister  combination,  and  he  soon  recovered 
his  domination  in  a  guilty  partnership.  It  must  have 
been  the  instinct  of  the  pickpocket  that  led  him  to 


DIAMONDS  257 

appropriate  Philip's  silver  watch,  with  its  quaint  shoe 
lace  attachment,  before  he  touched  any  other  article. 

"Queer  thing,"  he  commented.  "A  rich  man  might 
afford  a  better  timekeeper.  But  there's  no  accounting 
for  tastes." 

Mason,  satiated  and  stupefied,  obeyed  his  instructions 
like  a  ministering  ghoul.  They  undressed  Philip 
wholly,  and  Grenier,  rapidly  denuding  himself  of  his 
boots  and  outer  clothing,  donned  these  portions  of  the 
victim's  attire. 

Then  the  paint  tubes  and  the  other  accessories  of 
an  actor's  make-up  were  produced.  Grenier,  facing  a 
mirror  placed  on  a  table  close  to  Philip,  began  to  re 
model  his  own  plastic  features  in  close  similitude  to 
those  of  the  unconscious  man.  He  was  greatly  assisted 
by  the  fact  that  in  general  contour  they  were  not  strik 
ingly  different. 

Philip's  face  was  of  a  fine,  classical  type;  Grenier, 
whose  nose,  mouth  and  chin  were  regular  and  pleasing, 
found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  controlling  the  shifty, 
ferret-like  expression  of  his  eyes.  Again,  Philip  had 
no  mustache.  The  only  costume  he  really  liked  to 
wear  was  his  yachting  uniform,  and  here  he  conformed 
to  the  standard  of  the  navy.  The  shaven  lip,  of  course, 
was  helpful  to  his  imitator.  All  that  was  needed  was 
an  artistic  eye  for  the  chief  effect,  combined  with  a 
skilled  use  of  his  materials.  And  herein  Grenier  was 
an  adept. 

But  the  light  was  growing  very  uncertain. 

"A  lamp,"  he  said,  querulously,  for  time  sped  and 
he  had  much  to  do ;  "bring  a  lamp  quickly." 

Mason  went  toward  the  front  kitchen.  Grenier  did 
not  care  about  being  left  alone,  face  to  face  with  the 


258  THE  KING  OF 

pallid  and  naked  form  in  the  chair,  but  he  set  his  teeth 
and  repressed  the  tendency  to  rush  after  his  confed 
erate. 

The  latter,  in  returning,  halted  an  instant. 

"Hello!"  he  cried.    "Here's  his  hat." 

After  placing  the  lamp  on  the  table  beside  the  mir 
ror,  he  went  back  to  the  passage. 

Grenier  was  so  busy  with  the  making-up  process  that 
he  did  not  notice  what  his  companion  was  doing.  His 
bent  form  shrouded  the  light,  and  Mason  placed  the 
hat  carelessly  on  a  chair.  He  chanced  to  hold  it  by 
an  uninjured  part  of  the  rim,  and  never  thought  of 
examining  it. 

At  last  Grenier  declared  himself  satisfied. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  result?"  he  demanded, 
facing  about  so  that  the  other  could  see  both  Anson 
and  himself. 

"First-rate.     It  would  deceive  his  own  mother." 

A  terrific  rat-tat  sounded  on  the  outer  dooi. 

A  direct  summons  to  the  infernal  regions  could  not 
have  startled  both  men  more  thoroughly.  Grenier, 
with  the  protecting  make-up  on  forehead  and  cheeks, 
only  showed  his  terror  in  his  glistening  eyes  and  palsied 
frame.  Mason,  whom  nothing  could  daunt,  was,  nev 
ertheless,  spellbound  with  surprise. 

What  intruder  was  this  who  knocked  so  impera 
tively  ?  They  were  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  nearest 
habitation,  four  miles  from  a  village.  What  fearful 
chance  had  brought  to  their  door  one  who  thus  boldly 
demanded  admission?  Had  their  scheme  miscarried 
at  this  vital  moment  ?  Had  Anson  suspected  something 
and  arranged  that  he  should  be  followed  by  rescuers — 
avengers  ? 


DIAMONDS  259 

The  sheer  agony  of  fear  restored  Grenier's  wits.  He 
was  not  Grenier  now,  but  Philip  Anson,  a  very  shaky 
and  unnerved  Philip  Anson,  it  was  true,  but  sufficiently 
likelife  to  choke  off  doubting  inquiries. 

He  clutched  Mason's  arm  and  pointed  a  quivering 
finger  toward  Philip. 

"Out  with  him!     This  instant!     The  tide  is  high!" 

"But  his  face!    If  he  is  found " 

Mason  reached  for  the  life-preserver  with  horrible 
purpose. 

"No,  no.  No  more  noise.  Quick,  man.  You  must 
go  to  the  door.  Only  summon  me  if  necessary.  Oh, 
quick !" 

He  rushed  to  another  door  and  opened  it.  There  was 
a  balcony  beyond.  It  overhung  the  very  lip  of  the 
rock.  Far  beneath,  the  deep  blue  of  the  sea  shone, 
and  naught  else. 

Mason  caught  up  Anson's  limp  form  and  ran  with 
him  to  the  balcony.  With  a  mighty  swing  he  threw 
him  outward,  clear  of  the  cliff's  edge.  For  a  few 
tremulous  seconds  they  listened.  They  thought  they 
heard  a  splash ;  then  Mason  turned  coolly  to  Grenier : 

"Is  there  any  blood  on  my  coat?" 

"I  can  see  none.     Now,  the  door!     Keep  inside!" 

With  quaking  heart  he  listened  to  Mason's  heavy 
tread  along  the  passage  and  across  the  kitchen.  He 
clinched  the  back  of  a  chair  in  the  effort  to  calm  him 
self  by  forcible  means.  Then  he  heard  the  unbolting 
of  the  door  and  the  telegraph  messenger's  prompt  an 
nouncement  : 

"Philip  Anson,  Esquire." 

Mason  came  to  him  carrying  the  telegram. 

Grenier  subsided  into  the  chair  he  held.     This  time 


260  THE  KING  OF 

he  was  prostrated.     He  could  scarce  open  the  flimsy 
envelope. 

"Abingdon  counsels  caution.  Says  there  is  some  mis 
take.  Much  love.  EVELYN." 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  a  good  deal.  Grenier  looked 
up  with  lack-luster  eyes.  He  was  almost  fainting. 

"Send  him  away,"  he  murmured.  "There  is  noth 
ing  to  be  done.  In  the  morning " 

Mason  saw  that  his  ally  was  nearly  exhausted  by 
the  reaction.  He  grinned  and  cursed. 

"Of  all  the  chicken-hearted— 

But  he  went  and  dismissed  the  boy.  Grenier  threw 
himself  at  full  length  on  a  sofa. 

"What's  up  now?"  demanded  Mason,  finding  him 
prone. 

"Wait — just  a  little  while — until  my  heart  stops  gal 
loping.  That  confounded  knock !  It  jarred  my  spine." 

"Take  some  more  brandy." 

"How  can  I  ?  It  is  impossible.  I  haven't  got  an 
ox-head,  like  you." 

Mason  placed  the  lamp  on  a  central  table.  Its  rays 
fell  on  Philip's  hat.  Something  in  its  appearance 
caught  the  man's  eye.  He  picked  up  the  hat  and  ex 
amined  it  critically. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  silence  broken  only 
by  Grenier's  deep  breathing,  "I  fancy  I  didn't  kill  him, 
after  all." 

"Not — kill  him?  Why — he  was  dead — in  that  chair 
— for  an  hour." 

"Perhaps.  I  hit  hard  enough,  but  this  hat  must  have 
taken  some  of  it.  When  you  were  busy,  I  thought  his 


DIAMONDS  261 

chest  heaved  slightly.  And  just  now,  when  I  carried 
him  outside,  he  seemed  to  move." 

"Rot!" 

"It  may  be.    I  struck  very  hard." 

Grenier  sat  up. 

"Even  if  you  are  right,"  he  muttered,  "it  does  not 
matter.  He  fell  three  hundred  feet.  The  fall  alone 
would  kill  him.  And,  if  he  is  drowned,  and  the  body 
is  picked  up,  it  is  better  so.  Don't  you  see !  Even 
if  he  were  recognized  he  would  be  drowned,  not — 

not Well,  his  death  would  be  due  to  natural 

causes." 

He  could  not  bring  himself  to  say  "murdered" — an 
ugly  word. 

"If  you  were  not  such  a  milksop,  there  would  be 
no  fear  of  his  being  recognized." 

But  Grenier  laughed  a  hollow  and  unconvincing 
laugh ;  nevertheless,  it  was  a  sign  of  recovery. 

"What  nonsense  we  are  talking.  A  naked  man, 
floating,  dead,  in  the  North  Sea.  Who  is  he?  Not 
Philip  Anson,  surely!  Philip  Anson  is  gayly  gadding 
about  England  on  his  private  affairs.  Where  is  Green  ? 
Hunter,  go  and  tell  Green  to  bring  my  traps  here  in 
stantly.  I  wish  him  to  return  to  town  on  an  urgent 
errand." 

There  was  a  glint  of  admiration  in  Mason's  eyes. 
Here  was  one  with  Anson's  face,  wearing  Anson's 
clothes,  and  addressing  him  in  Anson's  voice. 

"That's  better,"  he  chuckled.  "By  G— d,  you're 
clever  when  your  head  is  clear." 

"Now  be  off  for  Green.     You  know  what  to  say." 

"You  will  be  alone.    Will  you  be  afraid  ?" 

The  sneer  was  the  last  stimulant  Grenier  needed. 


262  THE  KING  OF 

"If  you  were  called  on  to  stand  in  Philip  Anson's 
boots  during  the  next  week  or  ten  days,  my  good 
friend,"  he  quietly  retorted,  "you  would  be  afraid  sixty 
times  in  every  hour.  Your  job  has  nearly  ended ; 
mine  has  barely  commenced.  Now,  leave  me." 

Nevertheless,  he  quitted  that  chamber  of  death, 
carrying  with  him  all  that  he  needed,  and  hurrying 
over  the  task  while  he  could  yet  hear  the  dogcart  rat 
tling  down  the  hill: 

He  commenced  with  an  inventory  of  Philip's  pockets. 

His  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  a  well-filled  pocket- 
book,  with  a  hundred  pounds  in  notes  stuffed  therein, 
cards,  a  small  collection  of  letters,  and  other  odds  and 
ends.  Among  Philip's  books  was  Evelyn's  hurried 
note  of  that  morning,  and  on  it  a  penciled  memo 
randum  : 

"Sharpe  left  for  Devonshire  yesterday.  Lady  M. 
wrote  from  Yorkshire." 

"That  was  a  neat  stroke,"  thought  Grenier,  with  a 
smile — when  he  smiled  he  least  resembled  Philip. 
"Being  a  man  of  affairs,  Anson  promptly  went  to  the 
Morlands'  solicitors.  I  was  sure  of  it.  I  wonder  how 
Jimmie  arranged  matters  with  Sharpe.  I  will  know  to 
morrow  at  York." 

A  check  book  in  another  pocket  added  to  his  joy. 

"The  last  rock  out  of  my  path,"  he  cried,  aloud. 
"That  saves  two  days.  The  bait  took.  By  Jove !  I'm 
in  luck's  way !" 

There  was  now  no  need  to  write  to  Philip's  bank 
for  a  fresh  book,  which  was  his  first  daring  expedient. 

He  seated  himself  at  a  table  and  wrote  Philip's  sig 
nature  several  times  to  test  his  hand.  At  last  it  was 


DIAMONDS  263 

steady.  Then  he  put  a  match  to  a  fire  all  ready  for 
lighting,  and  burned  Philip's  hat,  collar,  shirt  and  un 
derclothing  ;  also  the  blood-stained  towel. 

When  the  mass  of  clothing  was  smoldering  black  and 
red  he  threw  a  fresh  supply  of  coal  on  top  of  it.  The 
loss  of  the  hat  did  not  trouble  him ;  he  possessed  one 
of  the  same  shape  and  color. 

He  was  quietly  smoking  a  cigar,  and  practicing 
Philip's  voice  between  the  puffs,  when  Mason  returned 
with  the  valet. 

The  scene,  carefully  rehearsed  by  Grenier  in  all  its 
details,  passed  off  with  gratifying  success.  Purring 
with  satisfaction,  the  chief  scoundrel  of  the  pair  left  in 
the  Grange  House  by  the  astonished  servant,  began  to 
overhaul  the  contents  of  Philip's  bag. 

It  held  the  ordinary  outfit  of  a  gentleman  who  does 
not  expect  to  pay  a  protracted  visit — an  evening  dress 
suit,  a  light  overcoat,  a  tweed  suit,  and  a  small  supply 
of  boots  and  linen.  A  tiny  dressing  case  fitted  into  a 
special  receptacle,  and  on  top  of  this  reposed  a  folded 
document. 

Grenier  opened  it.  Mason  looked  over  his  shoulder. 
It  was  headed: 

"Annual  Report  of  the  Mary  Anson  Home  for  Desti 
tute  Boys." 

Mason  coarsely  cursed  both  the  home  and  its  patron. 
But  Grenier  laughed  pleasantly. 

"The  very  thing,"  he  cried.    "Look  here !" 

And  he  pointed  to  an  indorsement  by  the  secretary. 

"For  signature  if  approved  of." 

"I  will  sign  and  return  it,  with  a  nice  typewritten 
letter,  to-morrow,  from  York.  Abingdon  is  one  of  the 
governors.  Oh,  I  will  bamboozle  them  rarely." 


264  THE  KING  OF 

"This  blooming  charity  will  help  you  a  bit,  then?" 

"Nothing  better.  Let  us  go  out  for  a  little  stroll. 
Now,  don't  forget.  Address  me  as  'Mr.  Anson.'  Get 
used  to  it,  even  if  we  are  alone.  And  it  will  be  no  harm 
should  we  happen  to  meet  somebody." 

They  went  down  the  hill  and  entered  the  rough  coun 
try  road  that  wound  up  from  Scarsdale  to  the  cliff. 
Through  the  faint  light  of  a  summer's  night  they  saw 
a  man  approaching. 

It  was  a  policeman. 

"Absit  omen,"  said  Grenier,  softly. 

"What's  that?" 

"Latin  for  a  cop.  You  complained  of  my  want  of 
nerve.  Watch  me  now." 

He  halted  the  policeman,  and  questioned  him  about 
the  locality,  the  direction  of  the  roads,  the  villages  on 
the  coast.  He  explained  pleasantly  that  he  was  a  Lon 
doner,  and  an  utter  stranger  in  these  parts. 

"You  are  staying  at  the  Grange  House,  sir  ?"  said  the 
man,  in  his  turn. 

"Yes.    Come  here  to-day,  in  fact." 

"I  saw  you,  sir.  Is  the  gentleman  who  drove  you 
from  Scarsdale  staying  there,  too?  I  met  you  on  the 
road,  and  he  seemed  to  know  me." 

Grenier  silently  anathematized  his  carelessness.  Po 
licemen  in  rural  Yorkshire  were  not  as  common  as 
policemen  in  Oxford  Street.  It  was  the  same  man 
whom  he  had  encountered  hours  ago. 

"Oh,  he  is  a  doctor.  Yes,  he  resides  in  the  Grange 
House." 

"You  won't  find  much  room  for  a  party  there,  sir," 
persisted  the  constable.  "I  don't  remember  the  gentle 
man  at  all.  What  is  his  name?" 


DIAMONDS  265 

"Dr.  Williams.  He  is  a  genial  sort  of  fellow — nods 
to  anybody.  Take  a  cigar.  Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  to 
go  up  and  have  a  drink,  but  there  is  illness  in  the  place." 

The  policeman  passed  on. 

"Illness!"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  gloomy  outlines 
of  the  farm.  "How  many  of  'em  are  in  t'  place.  And 
who's  yon  dark-lookin'  chap,  I  wonder?  My,  but  his 
face  would  stop  a  clock !" 


266  THE  KING  OF 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Philip  Anson  Redivivus. 

Next  morning  Mason  trudged  off  to  Scarsdale  at  an 
early  hour.  He  ascertained  that  Green  had  quitted  the 
Fox  and  Hounds  Inn  in  time  to  catch  the  first  train. 

He  returned  to  Grange  House  with  the  dogcart  and 
drove  Grenier  to  Scarsdale  with  his  luggage,  con 
sisting  of  Philip's  portmanteau  and  his  own,  together 
with  a  hatbox. 

He  touched  his  cap  to  Grenier,  when  the  latter 
smiled  affably  on  him  from  the  luxury  of  a  first-class 
carriage,  and  he  pocketed  a  tip  with  a  grin. 

A  porter  was  also  feed  lavishly,  and  the  station 
master  was  urbanity  itself  as  he  explained  the  junctions 
and  the  time  London  would  be  reached. 

Left  to  himself,  Mason  handed  over  the  dogcart  to 
the  hostler  at  the  inn,  paid  for  its  hire,  and  again 
walked  to  the  deserted  farm.  He  surveyed  every  inch 
of  the  ground  floor,  carefully  raked  over  the  ashes  in 
the  grate,  scrubbed  the  passage  with  a  hard  broom  and 
water,  packed  some  few  personal  belongings  in  a  small 
bag,  and  set  out  again,  after  locking  the  door  securely, 
for  a  long  tramp  over  the  moor.  Nine  miles  of  moun 
tain  road  would  bring  him  to  another  line  of  railway. 
Thence  he  would  book  to  London,  and  travel  straight 
through,  arriving  at  the  capital  late  at  night,  and  not 
making  the  slightest  attempt  to  communicate  with  Gre 
nier  en  route. 

There  was  little  fear  of  comment  or  inquiry  caused 


DIAMONDS  267 

by  the  disappearance  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Grange 
House. 

He  and  "Dr.  Williams"  were  the  only  residents  even 
slightly  known  to  the  distant  village.  Such  stores  as 
they  needed  they  had  paid  for.  The  house  was  hired 
for  a  month  from  an  agent  in  the  county  towTn,  and 
the  rent  paid  in  advance.  It  was  not  clear  who  owned 
the  place.  The  agent  kept  it  on  his  books  until  some 
one  should  claim  it. 

As  the  murderer  walked  and  smoked  his  reflections 
were  not  quite  cheerful,  now  that  he  could  cry  "quits" 
with  Philip  Anson. 

His  experiences  of  the  previous  night  were  not  pleas 
ant.  Neither  he  nor  Grenier  went  to  bed.  They  dozed 
uneasily  in  chairs  until  daylight,  and  then  they  admit 
ted  that  they  had  committed  Anson's  body  to  the  deep 
in  a  moment  of  unreasoning  panic. 

He  might  be  found,  and,  even  if  he  were  not  identi 
fied,  that  confounded  policeman  might  be  moved  to  in 
vestigate  the  proceedings  of  the  curious  visitors  to 
Grange  House. 

That  was  the  weak  part  of  their  armor,  but  Grenier 
refused  to  admit  the  flaw. 

"A  naked  man  found  in  the  sea — and  he  may  never 
be  found — has  not  necessarily  been  thrown  from  a  bal 
cony  three  hundred  feet  above  sea  level.  The  notion 
is  grotesque.  No  constabulary  brain  could  conceive  it. 
And  who  is  he?  Not  Philip  Anson;  Philip  Anson  is 
alive.  Not  Dr.  Williams ;  any  Scarsdale  man  will  say 
that.  And  your  best  friend,  Mason,  would  not  take  him 
for  you." 

But  Mason  was  not  satisfied.  Better  have  buried  the 
corpse  on  the  lonely  farm — in  the  garden  for  choice. 


268  THE  KING  OF 

Then  they  would  know  where  he  was.  The  sea  was 
too  vague. 

Of  pity  for  his  victim  he  had  not  a  jot.  Had  Philip 
Anson  pitied  him,  or  his  wife,  or  his  two  children? 
They,  too,  were  dead,  in  all  probability.  While  in  Lon 
don  he  had  made  every  sort  of  inquiry,  but  always  en 
countered  a  blank  wall  of  negation.  John  and  William 
Mason,  even  if  they  lived,  did  not  know  he  was  their 
father.  They  were  lost  to  him  utterly. 

Curse  Philip  Anson.  Let  him  be  forgotten,  anyway. 
Yet  he  contrived  to  think  of  him  during  the  nine  weary 
miles  over  the  moor,  during  the  long  wait  at  the  rail 
way  station,  and  during  the  slow  hours  of  the  journey 
to  London. 

On  arriving  at  York,  Grenier  secured  a  palatial  suite 
at  the  Station  Hotel,  entering  his  name  in  the  register 
as  "Philip  Anson." 

He  drove  to  the  post  office  and  asked  if  there  was 
any  message  for  "Grenier." 

Yes.     It  read: 

"Family  still  at  Penzance.  Persuaded  friend  that 
letter  was  only  intended  to  create  unpleasantness  with 
uncle.  He  took  same  view  and  returned  to  town.  Will 
say  nothing." 

Unsigned,  it  came  from  a  town  near  Beltham.    Gre 
nier  was  satisfied.    He  lit  a  cigarette  with  the  message. 
At  a  branch  post  office  he  dispatched  two  telegrams. 
The  first  to  Evelyn : 

"Will  remain  in  the  North  for  a  few  days.  Too  busy 
to  write  to-day.  Full  letter  to-morrow.  Love. 

"PHILIP." 


DIAMONDS  269 

The  second,  to  Mr.  Abingdon : 

"Your  message  through  Miss  Atherley  noted. 
Please  suspend  all  inquiries.  Affair  quite  unioreseen. 
Will  explain  by  letter.  Address  to-day,  Station  Hotel, 
York.  ANSON/' 

Then  he  entered  a  bank  and  asked  for  the  manager. 

"My  name  may  be  known  to  you,"  he  said  to  the 
official,  at  the  same  time  handing  his  card. 

"Mr.  Anson,  Park  Lane — the  Mr.  Anson." 

"I  suppose  I  can  flatter  myself  with  the  definite 
article.  I  am  staying  here  some  few  days,  and  wish 
to  carry  out  certain  transactions  requiring  large  sums 
of  money.  I  will  be  glad  to  act  through  your  bank, 
on  special  terms,  of  course,  for  opening  a  short  ac 
count." 

"We  will  be  delighted." 

"I  will  write  a  check  now  for  five  thousand  pounds, 
which  kindly  place  to  my  credit  as  soon  as  possible. 
Shall  we  say — the  day  after  to-morrow?" 

"That  is  quite  possible.    We  will  use  all  expedition." 

"Thank  you.  You  understand,  this  is  merely  a  pre 
liminary.  I  will  need  a  much  larger  sum,  but  I  will 
pay  in  my  next  check  after  hearing  from  London.  I 
am  not  quite  sure  about  the  amount  of  my  private 
balance  at  the  moment." 

The  bank  manager  assured  him  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  whatever  under  such  conditions. 

Grenier  obtained  his  passbook  and  check  book,  after 
writing  a  check  on  London  before  the  other  man's 
eyes. 

For  a  small  amount,  an  introduction  would  have  been 
necessary.  In  the  case  of  Philip  Anson,  the  million- 


270  THE  KING  OF 

aire,  a  man  who  handled  thousands  so  readily,  it  was 
needless.  Moreover,  his  procedure  was  unexception 
able — strictly  according  to  banking  business. 

Grenier  rushed  off  to  the  station,  caught  a  train  for 
Leeds,  went  to  the  bank  of  a  different  company  with 
different  London  agents,  and  carried  through  the  same 
maneuver. 

He  returned  to  York  and  secured  the  services  of  the 
hotel  typist.  He  wrote  to  Philip's  bankers : 

"I  am  transacting  some  very  important  private  busi 
ness  in  the  North  of  England,  and  have  opened  tem 
porary  accounts  with  the  Bank  in  York  and  the 

Bank  in  Leeds,  and  I  shall  need  a  considerable 

sum  of  ready  money.  Possibly  I  may  also  open  ac 
counts  in  Bradford  and  Sheffield.  To-day  I  have  drawn 
two  checks  for  five  thousand  pounds  each.  Kindly 
let  me  know  by  return  the  current  balance  to  my  credit, 
as  I  dislike  overdrafts  and  would  prefer  to  realize  some 
securities." 

The  next  letter  ran : 

"MY  DEAR  ABINGDON  :  Excuse  a  typewriter,  but  I 
am  horribly  busy.  The  Morlands'  affair  is  a  purely 
family  and  personal  one ;  it  brings  into  activity  circum 
stances  dating  far  back  in  my  life  and  in  the  lives  of 
my  parents.  Sir  Philip  is  not  dying,  nor  even  danger 
ously  ill.  Lady  Louisa  is  in  Yorkshire,  and  I  am  mak 
ing  arrangements  which  will  close  a  long-standing 
feud. 

"Write  me  here  if  necessary,  but  kindly  keep  back  all 
business  or  other  communications,  save  those  of  a  very 
urgent  character,  for  at  least  a  week  or  perhaps  ten 
days. 

"Sorry  for  this  enforced  absence  from  town.  It  sim 
ply  cannot  be  avoided,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  leave  a 


DIAMONDS  271 

detailed  explanation  until  we  meet.  I  have  signed  the 
inclosed  annual  report  of  the  home.  Will  you  kindly 
forward  it  to  the  secretary  ?  Yours  sincerely, 

"PHILIP  ANSON." 

Grenier  dictated  this  epistle  from  a  carefully  com 
posed  copy.  He  understood  the  very  friendly  relations 
that  existed  between  Philip  and  his  chief  agent,  and  he 
thought  that  in  adopting  a  semi-apologetic,  frankly 
reticent  tone,  he  was  striking  the  right  key. 

The  concluding  reference  to  the  Mary  Anson  Home 
was  smart,  he  imagined,  while  the  main  body  of  the 
letter  dealt  in  safe  generalities. 

Naturally,  he  knew  nothing  of  the  conversation  be 
tween  the  two  men  on  this  very  topic  a  couple  of  months 
earlier. 

But  Langdon's  ample  confessions  had  clearly  re 
vealed  Philip's  attitude,  and  the  unscrupulous  scoun 
drel  was  willing  now  to  dare  all  in  his  attempt  to  gain 
a  fortune. 

While  he  was  dining  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him : 

"You  forgot  to  send  your  address,  but  Mr.  Abingdon 
gave  it  to  me.  So  grieved  you  are  detained.  What 
about  blue  atom  ?  EVELYN/' 

Did  ever  woman  invent  more  tantalizing  question 
than  that  concluding  one?  What  was  a  blue  atom? 
No  doubt,  creation's  scheme  included  blue  atoms,  as 
well  as  black  ones  and  red  ones.  But  why  this  refer 
ence  to  any  particular  atom?  He  tried  the  words  in 
every  possible  variety  of  meaning.  He  gave  them  the 
dignity  of  capitals.  BLUE  ATOM.  They  became 
more  inexplicable. 

In  one  respect  they  were  effective.     They  spoiled 


272  THE  KING  OF 

his  dinner.  He  had  steeled  himself  against  every  pos 
sible  form  of  surprise,  but  he  was  forced  to  admit  that 
during  the  next  three  days  he  must  succeed  in  persuad 
ing  Evelyn  Atherley  that  Philip  Anson  was  alive,  and 
engaged  in  important  matters  in  Yorkshire.  That  was 
imperative — was  his  scheme  to  be  wrecked  by  a  blue 
atom? 

Moreover,  her  query  must  be  answered.  His  prom 
ise  to  write  was,  of  course,  a  mere  device.  It  would 
be  manifestly  absurd  to  send  her  a  typewritten  letter, 
and,  excellently  as  he  could  copy  Philip's  signature, 
he  dared  not  put  his  skill  as  a  forger  to  the  test  of 
inditing  a  letter  to  her,  no  matter  how  brief.  Finally 
he  hit  upon  a  compromise.  He  wired : 

"Stupid  of  me  to  omit  address.  Your  concluding 
sentence  mixed  up  in  transmission.  Meaning  not  quite 
clear.  Am  feeling  so  lonely.  PHILIP." 

Then  he  tried  to  resume  his  dinner,  but  his  appetite 
was  gone. 

In  postal  facilities,  owing  to  its  position  on  a  main 
line,  York  is  well  served  from  London.  At  9  P.  M. 
two  letters,  one  a  bulky  package  and  registered,  reached 
him. 

The  letter  was  from  Mr.  Abingdon.  It  briefly  ac 
knowledged  his  telegram,  stated  that  a  man  in  the 
Athenaeum,  who  knew  Sir  Philip  Morland,  had  in 
formed  him,  in  response  to  guarded  inquiries,  that  the 
baronet  was  exceedingly  well  off,  and  called  attention 
to  some  important  leases  inclosed  which  required  his 
signature. 

The  other  note  was  from  Evelyn.    It  was  tender  and 


DIAMONDS  273 

loving,  and  contained  a  reference  that  added  to  the 
mystification  of  her  telegram. 

"In  the  hurry  of  your  departure  yesterday,"  she 
wrote,  "we  forgot  to  mention  Blue  Atom.  What  is 
your  opinion?  The  price  is  high,  certainly,  but,  then, 
picture  the  joy  of  it — the  only  one  in  the  world!" 

And,  again,  came  another  message : 

"I  referred  to  Blue  Atom,  of  course.  What  did  the 
post  office  make  it  into?  EVELYN/' 

Blue  Atom  was  assuming  spectral  dimensions.  He 
cursed  the  thing  fluently.  It  was  high  priced,  a  joy, 
alone  in  solitary  glory.  What  could  it  be? 

He  strolled  into  the  station,  and  entered  into  conver 
sation  with  a  platform  inspector. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  casually,  "have  you  ever  heard 
of  anything  called  a  blue  atom?" 

The  man  grinned.  "Is  that  another  name  for  D.  T.'s, 
sir?" 

Grenier  gave  it  up,  and  resolved  to  postpone  a  de 
cision  until  the  next  morning. 

By  a  late  train  Philip's  portmanteau  arrived.  It  was 
locked,  and  the  key  reposed  in  the  safe.  Green,  it  ulti 
mately  transpired,  solemnly  opened  the  safe  in  the 
presence  of  the  housekeeper  and  butler,  locked  it  again 
without  disturbing  any  of  the  other  contents,  and 
handed  the  key  to  the  butler,  who  placed  it  in  the  silver 
pantry. 

In  the  solitude  of  his  room,  Grenier  burst  the  lock. 
The  rascal  received  one  of  the  greatest  shocks  of  his 
life  when  he  examined  the  contents — a  quantity  of  old 
clothing,  some  worn  boots,  a  ball  of  twine,  a  bed  cover- 


274  THE  KING  OF 

let,  a  big-,  iron  key,  the  tattered  letters,  and  a  variety 
of  odds  and  ends  that  would  have  found  no  corner  in  a 
respectable  rag  shop. 

He  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  laughter. 

"Ye  gods  and  little  fishes!"  he  cried.  "What  a  trea 
sure  !  The  Clerkenwell  suit,  I  suppose,  and  a  woman's 
skirt  and  blouse.  Old-timers,  too,  by  their  style.  His 
mother's,  I  expect.  He  must  have  been  fond  of  his 
mother." 

At  that  moment  Jocky  Mason,  beetle-browed  and 
resentful,  was  reading  a  letter  which  reached  his  lodg 
ings  two  hours  before  his  arrival,  in  an  envelope  bear 
ing  the  ominous  initials — O.  H.  M.  S. 

It  was  from  the  Southwark  Police  Station. 

"SiR :  Kindly  make  it  convenient  to  attend  here  to 
morrow  evening  at  8  P.  M.  Yours  truly, 

"T.  BRADLEY,  inspector." 

The  following  day  it  was  Mason's  duty  to  report 
himself  under  his  ticket-of-leave,  but  it  was  quite  un 
usual  for  the  police  to  give  a  preliminary  warning  in 
this  respect.  Failure  on  his  part  meant  arrest.  That 
was  all  the  officials  looked  after. 

"What's  up  now?"  he  muttered.  "Anyway,  Grenier 
was  right.  This  gives  me  a  cast-iron  alibi.  I'll  ac 
knowledge  it  at  once." 

His  accomplice,  hoping  to  obtain  sleep  from  cham 
pagne,  consumed  the  contents  of  a  small  bottle  in  his 
bedroom,  while  he  scanned  the  columns  of  the  local 
evening  papers  for  any  reference  to  a  "Seaside  Mys 
tery"  on  the  Yorkshire  coast. 

There  was  none.  Anson's  body  had  not  been  re 
covered  yet. 


DIAMONDS  275 

Before  going  to  bed,  he  wound  Philip's  watch.  He 
examined  it  now  with  greater  interest  than  he  had  be 
stowed  on  it  hitherto. 

Although  silver,  it  appeared  to  be  a  good  one.  He 
opened  the  case  to  examine  the  works.  Inside  there! 
was  an  inscription : 

"Presented  to  Philip  Anson,  aged  fifteen  years,  by 
the  officers  and  men  of  the  Whitechapel  Division  of  the 
Metropolitan  Police  as  a  token  of  their  admiration  for 
his  bravery  in  assisting  to  arrest  a  notorious  burglar." 

Beneath  was  the  date  of  Mason's  capture. 

"Where  was  I  ten  years  ago?"  he  mused. 

He  looked  back  through  the  soiled  leaves  of  a  sordid 
record,  and  found  that  he  was  then  acting  in  a  melo 
drama  entitled  "The  Wages  of  Sin." 

And  the  wages  of  sin  is  death !  The  drama  insisted 
on  the  full  measure  of  Biblical  accuracy.  Altogether, 
Grenier  lay  down  to  rest  under  unenviable  conditions. 

He  dreamed  that  he  was  falling  down  precipices,  and 
striking  sheets  of  blue  water  with  appalling  splashes. 
Each  time  he  was  awakened  by  the  shock. 

But  he  was  a  hardy  rogue  where  conscience  was  con 
cerned,  and  he  swore  himself  to  sleep  again.  Rest  he 
must  have.  He  must  arise  with  steady  head  and  clear 
brain. 

He  was  early  astir.  His  first  act  was  to  send  for 
the  Yorkshire  morning  papers.  They  contained  no 
news  of  Philip  Anson  dead,  but  the  local  sheet  chron 
icled  his  arrival  at  York. 

This  was  excellent.  The  banker  would  see  it.  A  few 
printed  lines  carry  great  weight  in  such  matters. 

Then  he  signed  the  leases,  dispatched  them  in  a  type 
written  envelope  and  telegraphed : 


276  THE  KING  OF 

"Documents  forwarded  this  morning.  Please  meet 
wishes  expressed  in  letter.1" 

"Surely,"  he  reflected,  "Abingdon  will  not  give  an 
other  thought  to  my  proceedings.  Philip  Anson  is  not 
a  boy  in  leading  strings." 

He  wired  to  Evelyn : 

"Sorry  for  misunderstanding.  Blue  Atom  must  wait 
until  my  return." 

Here  was  a  way  out.  Whatever  that  wretched  speck 
of  color  meant,  it  could  be  dealt  with  subsequently. 

But  Evelyn's  prompt  reply  only  made  confusion 
worse  confounded : 

"Delay  is  impossible.  The  man  has  put  off  the 
duchess  two  days  already." 

So  a  man,  and  a  duchess,  and  a  period  of  time  were 
mixed  up  with  a  blue  atom.  He  must  do  something 
desperate;  begin  his  plan  of  alienation  sooner  than  he 
intended.  He  answered: 

"Too  busy  to  attend  to  matter  further.  Going  to 
Leeds  to-day.  Letters  here  as  usual." 

And  to  Leeds  he  went.     Residence  in  York  was  a 

i  fever — a  constant  fret.    In  Leeds  he  was  removed  from 

the  arena.     He  passed  the  afternoon  and  evening  in 

roaming  the  streets,  consumed  with  a  fiery  desire  to  be 

doing,  daring,  braving  difficulties. 

But  he  must  wait  at  least  another  day  before  he  could 
lay  hands  on  any  portion  of  Philip  Anson's  wealth  save 
the  money  stolen  from  his  pockets. 

At  the  hotel  there  was  only  one  letter  and  no  tele 
grams. 


DIAMONDS  277 

The  London  bankers  wrote: 

"We  beg-  to  acknowledge  yours  of  yesterday.  Your 
cash  balance  at  date  is  twelve  thousand  four  hundred 
and  ten  pounds  nine  shillings  one  penny.  Your  securi 
ties  in  our  possession  amount  to  a  net  value  at  to-day's 
prices  of  about  nine  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  including-  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds  Consols  at  par.  We  will  forward  you  a  de 
tailed  list  if  desired,  and  will  be  pleased  to  realize  any 
securities  as  directed. 

"Kindly  note  that  instructions  for  sale  should  be 
given  in  your  handwriting,  and  not  typed." 

There  was  joy,  intoxicating-  almost  to  madness,  in 
this  communication,  but  it  was  not  unleavened  by  the 
elements  of  danger  and  delay. 

His  signature  had  been  accepted  without  demur ;  he 
could  control  an  enormous  sum  without  question ;  these 
were  the  entrancing  certainties  which  dazzled  his  eyes 
for  a  time. 

But  it  was  horribly  annoying  that  a  millionaire 
should  keep  his  current  account  so  low,  and  the  con 
cluding  paragraph  held  a  bogey,  not  wholly  unfore 
seen,  but  looming  large  when  it  actually  presented 
itself. 

The  memorandum  in  Philip's  handwriting  on  Ev 
elyn's  letter  was  now  thrice  precious.  He  hurriedly 
scrutinized  it,  and  at  once  commenced  to  practice  the 
words. 

"Devonshire"  and  "Sharpe"  gave  him  the  capitals 
for  "Dear  Sirs."  He  was  at  a  loss  for  a  capital  "C," 
but  he  saw  that  Philip  used  the  simplest  and  boldest 
outlines  in  his  caligraphy,  and  he  must  risk  a  "C"  with 
out  the  upper  loop.  In  "Lady  M.,"  too,  he  had  the 


278  THE  KING  OF 

foundation  of  the  "£"  to  precede  the  requisite  figures. 
Soon  he  framed  a  letter  in  the  fewest  words  possible : 

"Yours  of  to-day's  date  received.  Kindly  sell  Con 
sols  value  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds,  and 
place  the  same  to  my  credit." 

He  copied  it  again  and  again,  until  it  was  written 
freely  and  carelessly,  and  every  letter  available  com 
pared  favorably  with  the  original  in  his  possession. 
Then  he  posted  it,  thus  saving  a  day,  according  to  his 
calculations. 

With  this  missive  committed  irrecoverably  to  the 
care  of  his  majesty's  mails,  Victor  Grenier's  spirits 
rose.  Now,  indeed,  he  was  in  the  whirlpool.  Would 
he  emerge  high  and  dry  in  the  El  Dorado  of  gilded 
vice  which  he  longed  to  enter,  or  would  fortune  con 
sign  him  to  Portland  again — perchance  to  the  scaffold  ? 
He  could  not  say.  He  would  not  feel  safe  until  Philip 
Anson  was  a  myth,  and  Victor  Grenier  a  reality,  with 
many  thousands  in  the  bank. 

Already  he  was  planning  plausible  lies  to  keep  Mason 
out  of  his  fair  share  of  the  plunder.  A  few  more 
forged  letters  would  easily  establish  the  fact  that  he 
was  unable  to  obtain  a  bigger  haul  than,  say,  fifty  thou 
sand  pounds. 

And  what  did  Mason  want  with  twenty-five  thou 
sand  pounds?  He  was  a  gnarled  man,  with  crude 
tastes.  Twenty,  fifteen,  ten  thousand  would  be  ample 
for  his  wants.  The  sooner  he  drank  himself  to  death 
the  better. 

With  each  fresh  cigar  Mason's  moiety  shrank  in 
dimensions.  The  murder  was  a  mere  affair  of  a  venge 
ful  blow,  but  this  steady  sucking  of  the  millionaire's 


DIAMONDS  279 

riches  required  finesse,  a  dashing  adroitness,  the  superb 
impudence  of  a  Cagliostro. 

But  if  his  confederate's  interests  suffered,  the  total 
fixed  in  Grenier's  original  scheme  in  nowise  became 
affected. 

He  meant  to  have  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and 
he  firmly  decided  not  to  go  beyond  that  amount.  His 
letter  to  the  bankers  named  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou 
sand  pounds,  and  he  calculated  that  by  stopping  short 
at  two-thirds  of  the  available  sum  he  would  not  give 
any  grounds  for  suspicion  or  personal  inquiry. 

Yet  he  would  shirk  nothing.  Mr.  Abingdon  and 
Miss  Atherley  must  be  avoided  at  all  events ;  others 
he  would  face  blithely.  He  took  care  to  have  ever  on 
the  table  in  his  sitting  room  a  goodly  supply  of  wines 
and  spirits. 

If  anyone  sought  an  interview,  it  might  be  helpful 
to  sham  a  slight  degree  of  intoxication.  The  difference 
between  Philip  drunk  and  Philip  sober  would  then  be 
accounted  for  readily. 

But  rest — that  was  denied  him.  It  was  one  thing  to 
harden  himself  against  surprise  ;  quite  another  to  forget 
that  disfigured  corpse  swirling  about  in  the  North  Sea. 

He  wished  now  that  Philip  Anson  had  not  been  cast 
forth  naked.  It  was  a  blunder  not  to  dress  him,  to 
provide  him  with  means  of  identification  with  some 
unknown  Smith  or  Jones. 

When  he  closed  his  eyes  he  could  see  a  shadowy 
form  wavering  helplessly  in  green  depths.  Never  be 
fore  were  his  hands  smeared  with  blood.  He  had 
touched  every  crime  save  murder. 

Physically,  he  was  a  coward.  In  plotting  the  attack 
on  Philip,  he  had  taxed  his  ingenuity  for  weeks  to  dis- 


28o  THE  KING  OF 

cover  some  means  where  he  need  not  become  Mason's 
actual  helper.  He  rejected  project  after  project.  The 
thing  might  be  bungled,  so  he  must  attend  to  each  part 
of  the  undertaking  himself,  short  of  using  a  bludgeon. 

He  slept  again  and  dreamed  of  long  flights  through 
space  pursued  by  demons.  How  he  longed  for  day. 
How  slowly  the  hours  passed  after  dawn,  until  the 
newspapers  were  obtainable,  with  their  columns  of 
emptiness  for  him. 

A  letter  came  from  Evelyn.  It  was  a  trifle  reserved, 
with  an  impulse  to  tears  concealed  in  it. 

"I  asked  mother  for  fifty  pounds,"  she  wrote,  "so 
the  Blue  Atom  incident  has  ended,  but  I  don't  think  I 
will  ever  understand  the  mood  in  which  you  wrote  your 
last  telegram.  Perhaps  your  letter  now  in  the  post — I 
half  expected  it  at  mid-day — will  explain  matters  some 
what." 

He  consigned  Blue  Atom  to  a  sultry  clime,  and  be 
gan  to  ask  himself  why  Mr.  Abingdon  had  not  written. 
The  ex-magistrate's  reticence  annoyed  him.  A  letter, 
even  remonstrating  with  him,  would  be  grateful.  This 
silence  was  irritating;  it  savored  of  doubt,  and  doubt 
was  the  one  phase  of  thought  he  wished  to  keep  out  of 
Mr.  Abingdon's  mind  at  that  moment. 

As  for  Evelyn,  she  mistrusted  even  his  telegrams, 
while  a  bank  had  accepted  his  signature  without  reser 
vation.  He  would  punish  her  with  zest.  Philip  An- 
son's  memory  would  be  poisoned  in  her  heart  long  be 
fore  she  realized  that  he  was  dead. 


DIAMONDS  281 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Nemesis. 

Philip  was  thrown  into  the  sea  on  a  Tuesday.  Jocky 
Mason  reached  London  on  Wednesday,  and  kept  his 
appointment  with  Inspector  Bradley  on  Thursday 
evening. 

The  inspector  received  him  graciously,  thus  chasing 
from  the  ex-convict's  mind  a  lurking  suspicion  that 
matters  were  awry.  There  is  a  curious  sympathy  be 
tween  the  police  and  well-known  criminals.  They  meet 
with  friendliness  and  exchange  pleasantries,  as  a  watch 
dog  might  fraternize  with  a  wolf  in  off  hours. 

But  Mason  had  no  responsive  smile  or  ready  quip. 

"What's  up?"  he  demanded,  morosely.  "You  sent 
for  me.  Here  I  am.  I  would  have  brought  my  ticket 
sooner  if  you  hadn't  written." 

"All  right,  Mason.  Keep  your  wool  on.  Do  you 
remember  Superintendent  Robinson?" 

"Him  that  was  inspector  in  Whitechapel  when  I  was 
put  away  ?  Rather." 

"Well,  some  friends  of  yours  have  been  inquiring 
from  him  as  to  your  whereabouts.  He  sent  a  message 
round,  and  I  promised  that  you  should  meet  them  if 
you  showed  up.  I  was  half  afraid  you  had  bolted  to 
the  States." 

"Friends !    I  have  no  friends." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have — very  dear  friends,  indeed." 

"Then  where  are  they?" 

He  glared  around  the  roomy  police  office,  but  it  was 


282  THE  KING  OF 

only  tenanted  by  policemen  attending  to  various  books 
or  chatting  quietly  across  a  huge  counter. 

His  surly  attitude  did  not  diminish  the  inspector's 
kindliness. 

"Don't  be  so  doubtful  on  that  point,  Mason.  Have 
you  no  children  ?" 

Something  in  the  police  officer's  eyes  gave  the  man 
a  clew.  His  swarthy  face  flushed  and  his  hands 
clinched. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  huskily.  "I  left  two  boys.  Their 
mother  died.  They  were  lost.  I  have  looked  for  them 
everywhere." 

Inspector  Bradley  pointed  to  a  door. 

"Go  into  that  room,"  he  said,  quietly,  "and  you  will 
find  them.  They  are  waiting  there  for  you." 

Mason  crossed  the  sanded  floor  like  one  walking  in 
his  sleep.  He  experienced  no  emotion.  He  was  a  man 
stunned  for  the  nonce. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  waiting  room,  and  entered 
cautiously.  He  might  have  expected  a  hoax,  a  jest, 
from  his  attitude. 

Two  stalwart  young  men  were  standing  there  talk 
ing.  Their  chat  ceased  as  he  appeared.  For  an  appre 
ciable  time  father  and  sons  looked  at  each  other  with 
the  curiosity  of  strangers. 

He  knew  them  first.  He  saw  himself,  no  less  than 
their  unfortunate  and  suffering  mother,  in  their  erect. 
figures,  the  contour  of  their  pleasant  faces. 

To  them  he  was  unknown.    The  eldest  boy  was  ten 
years  old,  the  younger  eight,  when  they  last  met.    But 
they  read  a  message  in  the  man's  hungering  eyes,  and 
they  were  the  first  to  break  the  suspense. 
"Father!"  cried  John. 


DIAMONDS  283 

The  other  boy  sprang  to  him  witkout  a  word. 

He  took  them  in  his  arms.  He  was  choked.  From 
some  buried  font  came  long-forgotten  tears.  He  mur 
mured  their  names,  but  not  a  coherent  sentence  could 
he  utter. 

They  were  splendid  fellows,  he  thought,  so  tall  and 
well  knit,  so  nice-mannered,  so  thoroughly  overjoyed  to 
meet  him. 

That  was  the  best  of  it.  They  had  sought  him  vol 
untarily.  They  knew  his  record,  and  were  not  ashamed 
to  own  him.  During  the  long  days  and  nights  of  cease 
less  inquiry  he  was  ever  tormented  by  the  dread  lest 
his  children,  if  living,  should  look  on  him  as  accursed, 
a  blot  on  their  existence. 

He  half  hoped  that  he  might  discover  them  in  some 
vile  slum,  where  crime  was  hallowed,  and  convicts  were 
heroes.  He  never  pictured  them  as  honest,  well-mean 
ing  youths,  sons  of  whom  any  father  might  be  proud, 
for  in  that  possibility  lurked  the  gnawing  terror  of 
shame  and  repudiation. 

Mason's  heart  was  full.  He  could  not  thank  God 
for  His  mercy — that  resource  of  poor  humanity  was 
denied  him,  and,  to  his  credit  be  it  said,  he  was  no  hypo 
crite. 

His  seared  soul  awoke  to  softer  feelings,  as  his  eyes, 
his  ears,  his  very  heart,  drank  in  fuller  knowledge  of 
them.  But  he  was  tormented  in  his  joy  by  an  agonized 
pang  of  remorse.  Oh,  that  he  could  have  met  them 
with  hands  free  from  further  crime ! 

In  some  vague  way  he  felt  that  his  punishment  for 
Philip  Anson's  death  would  be  meted  out  by  a  sterner 
justice  than  the  law  of  the  land.  He  was  too  hard  a 
man  to  yield  instantly.  He  crushed  back  the  rising 


284  THE  KING  Of 

flood  of  horror  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  him  in 
this  moment  of  happiness.  He  forced  himself  again  to 
answer  their  anxious  inquiries,  to  note  their  little  airs 
of  manliness  and  self-reliance,  to  see  with  growing 
wonder  that  they  were  well  dressed  and  wore  spotless 
linen. 

A  police  station  was  no  place  for  confidences.  In 
deed,  both  boys  were  awed  by  their  surroundings. 

They  passed  into  the  outer  office,  and  Mason  went  to 
thank  Inspector  Bradley. 

"Don't  forget  your  ticket,"  whispered  the  pleased 
officer. 

The  reminder  jarred,  but  it  was  unavoidable.    Mason 

got  his  ticket  indorsed,  the  lads  looking  on  shyly  the 

while,  and  the  three  regained  the  freedom  of  the  street. 

"Let  us  find  some  place  to  sit  down  and  have  a 

drink,"  suggested  Mason. 

"No,  father,"  said  John,  with  a  frank  smile.  "Nei 
ther  of  us  takes  drink.  Come  home  with  us.  We  have 
a  room  ready  for  you." 

"I  have  lodgings " 

"You  can  go  there  to-morrow,  and  get  your  belong- 
ings." 

"Yes.  Jump  into  this  cab,"  urged  Willie.  "We  live 
in  Westminster.  It  is  not  very  far." 

Mason  was  fascinated  by  the  boys'  pleasant  assump 
tion  of  authority.  They  spoke  like  young  gentlemen, 
with  the  accent  that  betokens  a  good  education.  He 
yielded  without  a  protest. 

They  sat  three  abreast  in  a  hansom,  and  the  vehicle 
scurried  off  toward  the  Westminster  Bridge  Road. 

Mason  was  in  the  center.  His  giant  form  leaned  over 
the  closed  doors  of  the  cab,  but  he  turned  his  head 


DIAMONDS  285 

with  interested  eagerness  as  one  or  other  of  his  sons 
addressed  him. 

"I  suppose,  father,  you  are  wondering  how  we  came 
to  meet  in  such  a  place,"  said  John. 

"It  might  puzzle  me  if  I  found  time  to  think." 

"Well,  the  superintendent  arranged  everything.  Un 
fortunately,  he  was  away  on  his  holidays  when — when 
you  were  released — or  we  would  have  met  you  then, 
and  his  deputy  was  not  aware  of  the  circumstances. 
As  soon  as  the  superintendent  returned  he  wrote  to 
the  governor,  and  was  very  much  annoyed  to  find  that 
you  had  slipped  away  in  the  meantime." 

"He  wouldn't  be  so  annoyed  if  he  was  there  him 
self,"  growled  Mason,  good-humoredly. 

"Oh,  John  didn't  mean  that,  father,"  broke  in  Willie. 
"The  annoyance  was  his,  and  ours.  You  see,  we  had 
not  known  very  long  where  you  were.  We  didn't  even 
know  you  were  alive." 

"Of  course,  of  course.  Somebody  has  been  looking 
after  you  well.  That's  clear  enough.  They  wouldn't 
be  always  telling  a  pair  of  boys  that  their  father  was 
in  Portland." 

"It  gave  us  such  a  shock  when  we  heard  the  truth," 
said  downright  John. 

"But  we  were  so  glad  to  hear  that  our  father  was 
living,  and  that  we  should  soon  see  him,"  explained  the 
younger. 

"When  did  you  hear  first?" 

"About  four  months  ago.  Just  before  we  took  our 
present  situations.  We  are  saddlers  and  ornamental 
leather  workers.  Between  us  we  earn  quite  a  decent 
living.  Don't  we,  John  ?" 

"In  fifteen  weeks  we  have  saved  enough  to  pay  for 


286  THE  KING  OF 

half  our  furniture,  besides  keeping  ourselves  well. 
There's  plenty  to  eat,  dad.  You  won't  starve,  big  as 
you  are." 

They  all  laughed.  The  cab  was  passing  St.  Thomas' 
Hospital.  Across  the  bridge  a  noble  prospect  met  their 
eyes.  London  had  a  glamour  for  Mason  that  night  it 
never  held  before. 

"So  Robinson  wrote  to  Bradley,  knowing  that  I 
would  report  myself  to-day,  and  Bradley  arranged " 

"Who  is  Robinson,  father  ?"  interrupted  John. 

"The  superintendent,  to  be  sure.  He  used  to  be  in 
spector  at  Whitechapel." 

"He  is  not  the  man  we  mean.  We  are  talking  of 
Mr.  Giles,  superintendent  of  the  Mary  Anson  Home." 

The  two  boys  felt  their  father's  start  of  dismay,  of 
positive  affright.  They  wondered  what  had  happened 
to  give  him  such  a  shock.  Peering  at  him  sideways 
from  the  corners  of  the  hansom,  they  could  see  the 
quick  pallor  of  his  swarthy  face. 

"You  forget,  John,"  put  in  the  adroit  William,  "that 
father  knows  as  little  about  our  lives  as  we  knew  about 
his  until  very  recently.  \Vhen  we  reach  our  flat  we 
must  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  him  everything." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  cried  John.  "When  poor 
mother  died,  we  were  taken  care  of  by  a  gentleman 
whom  Mr.  Philip  asked  to  look  after  us.  When  the 
Mary  Anson  Home  was  built  we  were  among  the  first 
batch  of  inmates.  If  ever  a  young  man  lias  done  good 
in  this  world,  it  is  Mr.  Philip  Anson.  See  what  he 
did  for  us.  Mother  was  nursed  and  tended  with  the 
utmost  kindness,  but  her  life  could  not  be  saved.  We 
were  rescued  from  the  workhouse,  taught  well  and  fed 
well,  and  given  such  instruction  in  a  first-class  trade 


DIAMONDS  287 

that  even  at  our  age  we  can  earn  five  pounds  a  week 
between  us.  And  what  he  has  done  for  us  he  does  for 
hundreds  of  others.  God  bless  Philip  Anson,  I  say !" 

"Amen  !"  said  his  brother. 

The  voices  of  his  sons  reached  Mason's  tortured 
brain  like  sounds  heard,  remote  but  distinct,  through  a 
long  tunnel.  His  great  frame  seemed  to  collapse.  In 
an  instant  he  became  an  old  man.  He  set  his  teeth  and 
jammed  his  elbows  against  the  woodwork  of  the  cab, 
but,  strive  as  he  would,  with  his  immense  physical 
strength  and  his  dogged  will,  he  shook  with  a  palsy. 

"Father !"  cried  John,  anxiously,  little  dreaming  how 
his  enthusiastic  speech  had  pierced  to  the  very  marrow 
of  his  hearer,  "are  you  ill?  Shall  we  stop?" 

"Perhaps,  John,  a  little  brandy  would  do  him  good," 
murmured  Willie. 

"Father,  do  tell  me  what  is  the  matter.  Willie,  reach 
up  and  tell  the  man  to  stop." 

Then  Mason  forced  himself  to  speak. 

"No,  no,"  he  gasped.  "Go  on.  It  is — only — a  pass 
ing  spasm." 

He  must  have  time,  even  a  few  minutes,  in  which 
to  drive  off  the  awful  specter  that  hugged  him  in  the 
embrace  of  death.  He  dared  not  look  at  his  sons. 
If  he  were  compelled  to  face  them  on  the  pavement  in 
the  flaring  gaslight,  he  would  run  away. 

His  anguish  was  pitiable.  Great  drops  of  sweat 
stood  clammy  on  his  forehead.  He  passed  a  trembling 
hand  across  his  face,  and  groaned  aloud  unconsciously : 

"Oh,  God  forgive  me!" 

It  was  the  first  prayer  that  had  voluntarily  left  his 
lips  for  many  a  day. 

The  boys  heard.    They  interpreted  it  as  an  expres- 


288  THE  KING  OF 

sion  of  sorrow  that  his  own  career  should  have  been 
so  cut  off  from  their  childhood  and  joyous  youth. 

"Well,  cheer  up,  dad,  anyhow,"  cried  the  elder,  much 
relieved  by  this  conclusion.  "We  are  all  together  again, 
and  you  can  face  the  world  once  more  with  us  at  your 
side." 

No  dagger  of  steel  could  have  hurt  so  dreadfully  as 
this  well-meant  consolation.     But  for  the  sake  of  his 
sons  the  man  wrestled  with  his  agony,  and  conquered ; 
it  to  some  outward  seeming. 

When  the  cab  stopped  outside  a  big  building  he  was 
steady  on  his  feet  when  he  alighted,  and  he  managed  to 
summon  a  ghastly  smile  to  his  aid  as  he  said  to  John : 

"I  am  sorry  to  set  you  a  bad  example.  But  that  is 
nothing  new,  is  it?  I  must  have  some  spirit,  strong 
spirit,  or  I  can't  keep  up." 

"Certainly,  father.  Why  not?  It  is  all  right  as 
medicine.  Willie,  you  go  and  get  some  brandy  while  I 
take  father  upstairs." 

Their  flat  was  on  the  second  floor.  It  was  neatly 
furnished,  fitted  with  electric  light,  and  contained  five 
rooms. 

John  talked  freely,  explaining  housekeeping  arrange 
ments,  the  puzzle  as  to  their  father's  size,  for  the  first 
bed  they  bought  was  a  short  one,  their  hours  of  work, 
the  variety  of  their  employment,  any  and  every  cheer 
ing  topic,  indeed,  until  Willie  came  with  a  bottle. 

Both  of  them  glanced  askance  at  the  quantity  Mason 
consumed,  but  they  passed  no  comment.  He  tried  to 
smoke,  and  sat  so  that  the  light  should  not  fall  on  his 
face.  And  then  he  said  to  them  : 

"Tell  me  all  you  know  about  Philip  Anson.  It  in 
terests  me." 


DIAMONDS  289 

Snap !  The  hard  composition  of  his  pipe  was  broken 
in  two. 

"What  a  pity !"  cried  Willie.  "Shall  I  run  and  buy 
you  a  new  one?" 

"No,  my  boy,  no.  I  can  manage.  Don't  mind  me. 
I  can't  talk,  but  I  will  listen.  May  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  me,  I  will  listen  !" 

He  suffered  that  night  as  few  men  have  suffered. 
Many  a  murderer  has  had  to  endure  the  torments  of  a 
haunted  conscience,  but  few  can  have  been  harrowed 
by  hearing  their  own  sons  lauding  to  the  sky  the  vic 
tim's  benefactions  to  themselves  and  to  their  dead 
mother. 

He  was  master  of  his  emotions  sufficiently  to  control 
his  voice.  He  punctuated  their  recital  by  occasional 
comments  that  showed  he  appreciated  every  point.  He 
examined  with  interest  specimens  of  their  work,  for 
they  understood  both  the  stitching  and  the  stamping 
of  leather,  and  once  he  found  himself  dully  speculating 
as  to  what  career  he  would  have  carved  out  for  him 
self  were  he  given  in  boyhood  the  opportunities  they 
rejoiced  in. 

But  throughout  there  was  in  his  surcharged  brain  a 
current  of  cunning  purpose.  First,  there  was  Grenier, 
away  in  the  North,  robbing  a  dead  man  and  plotting 
desolation  to  some  girl.  He  must  be  dealt  with. 

Then  he,  the  slayer,  must  be  slain,  and  by  his  own 
hand.  He  would  spare  his  sons  as  much  pain  as  might 
be  within  his  power. 

He  would  not  merely  disappear,  leaving  them  du 
bious  and  distressed.  No.  They  must  know  he  was 
dead,  not  by  suicide,  but  by  accident.  They  would 
mourn  his  wretched  memory.  Better  that  than  live 


290  THE  KING  OF 

with  the  abiding  grief  of  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
Philip  Anson's  murderer. 

He  was  quite  sure  now  that  the  dead  would  arise  and 
call  for  vengeance  if  he  dared  to  continue  to  exist. 
Yes,  that  was  it — a  life  for  a  life — a  prayer  that  his 
deeds  might  not  bear  fruit  in  his  children — and  then 
death,  speedy,  certain  death. 

Some  reference  to  the  future  made  by  Willie,  the 
younger,  who  favored  his  mother  more  than  the  out 
spoken  John,  gave  Mason  an  opportunity  to  pave  the 
way  for  the  coming  separation. 

"I  don't  want  you  two  lads  to  make  any  great 
changes  on  my  account,"  he  said,  slowly.  "It  is  far 
from  my  intention  to  settle  down  here,  and  let  all  your 
friends  become  aware  that  you  are  supporting  a  ticket- 
of-leave  father.  Yes,  I  know.  You  are  good  boys,  and 
it  won't  be  any  more  pleasant  for  me  to — to  live  away 
from  you,  than  it  would  be  for  you — under — other 
conditions — to  be  separated  from  me.  But — I  am  in 
earnest  in  this  matter.  I  will  stop  here  to-night  just 
to  feel  that  I  am  under  the  same  roof  as  you.  It  is 
your  roof,  not  mine.  Long  ago  I  lost  the  right  to  pro 
vide  you  with  a  shelter.  To-morrow  I  go  away.  I 
have  some  work  to  do — a  lot  of  work.  It  must  be  at 
tended  to  at  once.  Of  course,  you  will  see  me,  often. 
We  can  meet  in  the  evening — go  out  together — but 
live  here — with  you — I  can't." 

His  sons  never  knew  the  effort  that  this  speech  cost 
him.  He  spoke  with  such  manifest  hesitation  that 
Willie,  who  quickly  interpreted  the  less-pronounced 
signs  of  a  man's  thoughts,  winked  a  warning  at  his 
brother. 

He  said,  with  an  optic  signal: 


DIAMONDS  291 

"Not  a  word  now,  John.  Just  leave  things  as  they 
are." 

Under  any  ordinary  conditions  he  would  be  right. 
He  could  never  guess  the  nature  of  the  chains  that 
encircled  his  father,  delivering  him  fettered  to  the  tor 
ture,  bound  hand  and  foot,  body  and  soul. 

At  last  they  all  retired  to  their  rooms,  the  boys  to 
whisper  kindly  plans  for  keeping  their  father  a  pris 
oner  again  in  their  hands  ;  Mason  to  lie,  open-eyed,  dry- 
eyed,  through  the  night,  mourning  for  that  which  might 
not  be. 

The  rising  sun  dispelled  the  dark  phantoms  that 
flitted  before  his  vision. 

He  fell  into  a  fitful  slumber,  disturbed  by  vivid 
dreams.  Once  he  was  on  a  storm-swept  sea  at  night, 
on  a  sinking  ship,  a  ship  with  a  crew  of  dead  men,  and 
a  dead  captain  at  the  helm. 

Driving  onward  through  the  raging  waves,  he  could 
feel  the  vessel  settling  more  surely,  as  she  rushed  into 
each  yawning  caldron.  Suddenly,  through  the  wreck 
of  flying  spindrift,  he  saw  a  smooth  harbor,  a  sheltered 
basin,  in  which  vessels  rode  in  safety.  There  were 
houses  beyond,  with  cheerful  lights,  and  men  and 
women  were  watching  the  doomed  craft  from  the  firm 
security  of  the  land. 

But.  strain  his  eyes  as  he  would,  he  could  see  no  en 
trance  to  that  harbor ;  naught  save  furious  seas  break 
ing  over  relentless  walls  of  granite. 

Even  in  his  dream  he  was  not  afraid. 

He  asked  the  captain,  with  an  oath: 

"Is  there  no  way  in?" 

And  the  captain  turned  corpselike  eyes  toward  him. 


292  THE  KING  OF 

It  was  Philip  Anson.  The  dreamer  uttered  a  wild 
beast's  howl,  and  shrank  away. 

Then  he  awoke  to  find  Willie  standing  by  his  bedside 
with  soothing  words. 

"It  is  all  right,  father.  You  were  disturbed  in  your 
sleep.  Don't  get  up  yet.  It  is  only  five  o'clock." 


At  that  hour  a  policeman  left  his  cottage  in  a  village 
on  the  Yorkshire  coast,  and  walked  leisurely  toward 
the  Grange  House. 

He  traversed  four  miles  of  rough  country,  and  the 
sun  was  hot,  so  he  did  not  hurry.  About  half-past  six 
he  reached  the  farm.  There  were  no  signs  of  activity 
such  as  may  be  expected  in  the  country  at  that  hour. 

He  examined  three  sides  of  the  building  carefully — 
the  sea  front  was  inaccessible — and  waited  many  min 
utes  before  he  knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  no 
answer.  He  knocked  again  more  loudly.  The  third 
time  his  summons  would  have  aroused  the  Seven 
Sleepers,  but  none  came. 

He  tried  the  door,  and  rattled  it;  peered  in  at  the 
windows ;  stood  back  in  the  garden,  and  looked  up  at 
the  bedrooms. 

"A  queer  business,"  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  un 
willingly  to  leave  the  place. 

"Ay,  a  very  queer  business,"  he  said,  again.  "I  must 
go  on  to  Scarsdale,  an'  mak'  inquiries  aboot  this  Dr. 
Williams  afore  I  report  to  t'  super." 


DIAMONDS  293 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

The  Rescue. 

When  Philip's  almost  lifeless  body  was  flung-  over 
the  cliff  it  rushed  down  through  the  summer  air  feet 
foremost.  Then,  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  gravity, 
it  spun  round  until,  at  the  moment  of  impact  with  the 
water,  the  head  and  shoulders  plunged  first  into  the 
waves. 

At  that  point  the  depth  of  the  sea  was  sixty  feet  at 
the  very  base  of  the  rock.  At  each  half-tide,  and 
especially  in  stormy  weather,  an  irresistible  current 
swept  away  all  sand  deposit,  and  sheered  off  project 
ing  masses  of  stone  so  effectually,  that,  in  the  course 
of  time,  the  overhanging  cliff  must  be  undermined  and 
fall  into  the  sea. 

High  tide  or  low,  there  was  always  sufficient  water 
to  float  a  battleship,  and  the  place  was  noted  as  a  fa 
vorite  nook  for  salmon,  at  that  season  preparing  for 
their  annual  visit  to  the  sylvan  streams  of  the  moor 
land  valleys. 

The  lordly  salmon  is  peculiar  in  his  habits.  De 
lighting,  at  one  period  of  the  year,  to  roam  through 
the  ocean  wilds,  at  another  he  seeks  shallow  rivers,  in 
whose  murmuring  fords  he  scarce  finds  room  to  turn 
his  portly  frame. 

And  the  law  protects  him  most  jealously. 

In  the  river  he  is  guarded  like  a  king,  and  when  he 
clusters  at  its  mouth,  lazily  making  up  his  mind  to  try 
a  change  of  water,  as  a  monarch  might  visit  Homburg 


294  THE  KING  OF 

for  a  change  of  air,  he  can  only  be  caught  under  cer 
tain  severe  restrictions. 

He  must  not  be  netted  within  so  many  yards  of  the 
seaward  limit  of  the  estuary ;  he  may  not  be  caught 
wholesale ;  the  nets  must  have  a  maximum  length  of 
four  hundred  feet ;  they  must  not  be  set  between  7  P. 
M.  on  a  Friday  and  7  A.  M.  on  a  Monday. 

Viewed  in  every  aspect,  the  salmon  is  given  ex 
ceptional  chances  of  longevity.  His  price  is  high  as  his 
culinary  reputation,  and  the  obvious  sequel  to  all  these 
precautions  is  that  certain  nefarious  persons  known  as 
poachers  try  every  artifice  to  defeat  the  law  and  cap 
ture  him. 

A  favorite  dodge  is  to  run  out  a  large  quantity  of 
nets  in  just  such  a  tideway  as  the  foot  of  the  cliff 
crowned  by  Grange  House.  None  can  spy  the  opera 
tions  from  the  land,  while  a  close  watch  seaward  gives 
many  chances  of  escape  from  enterprising  water 
bailiffs,  who,  moreover,  can  sometimes  be  made  con 
veniently  drunk. 

When  Philip  hurtled  into  the  placid  sea  his  naked 
body  shone  white,  like  the  plumage  of  some  gigantic 
bird. 

Indeed,  a  man  who  was  leisurely  pulling  a  coble  in 
a  zigzag  course — while  two  others  paid  out  a  net  so 
that  its  sweeping  curves  might  embarrass  any  wander 
ing  salmon  who  found  himself  within  its  meshes — 
marked  the  falling  body  in  its  instantaneous  passage, 
and  thought  at  first  that  some  huge  sea  fowl  had  dived 
after  its  prey. 

But  the  loud  splash  startled  the  three  men.  Not  so 
did  a  cormorant  or  a  white-winged  solan  plunge  to  se 
cure  an  unwary  haddock. 


DIAMONDS  295 

The  net  attendants  straightened  their  backs ;  the 
oarsman  stood  up.  The  disturbance  was  so  near,  so 
unexpected,  that  it  alarmed  them.  They  looked  aloft, 
thinking  that  a  rock  had  fallen  ;  they  looked  to  the  small 
eddy  caused  by  Philip's  disappearance  to  see  if  any 
sign  would  be  given  explanatory  of  an  unusual  oc 
currence. 

Were  Philip  thrown  from  such  a  height  when  in  full 
possession  of  his  senses,  in  all  likelihood  such  breath 
as  was  in  his  lungs  at  the  moment  of  his  fall  would 
have  been  expelled  by  the  time  he  reached  the  water. 

He  must  have  resisted  the  rush  of  air,  uttered  in 
voluntary  cries,  struggled  wildly  with  his  limbs. 

But,  as  it  chanced,  Mason's  rough  handling  in  carry 
ing  him  to  the  balcony  made  active  the  vital  forces  that 
were  restoring  him  to  consciousness. 

He  was  on  the  very  threshold  of  renewed  life  when 
he  fell,  and  the  downward  flight  helped  rather  than  re 
tarded  the  process.  Indeed,  the  rush  of  air  was  grate 
ful.  He  drank  in  the  vigorous  draught,  and  inflated 
his  lungs  readily.  His  sensations  were  those  of  a  man 
immersed  in  a  warm  bath,  and  the  shock  of  his  con 
cussion  with  the  surface  of  the  sea  in  nowise  retarded 
the  recuperative  effect  of  the  dive. 

Of  course  he  was  fortunate,  after  falling  from  such 
a  height,  in  striking  the  water  with  his  right  shoulder. 
No  portion  of  the  human  body  is  so  fitted  to  bear  a 
heavy  blow  as  the  shoulders  and  upper  part  of  the 
back.  Had  he  dropped  vertically  on  his  head  or  his 
feet  he  might  have  sustained  serious  injury.  As  it 
was,  after  a  tremendous  dive,  and  a  curve  of  many 
yards  beneath  the  sea,  he  bobbed  up  inside  the  salmon 
net  within  a  few  feet  of  the  boat. 


296  THE  KING  OF 

Instantly  the  fishermen  saw  that  it  was  a  man,  an 
absolutely  naked  man,  who  had  thus  dropped  from 
the  sky. 

They  were  amazed,  very  frightened  indeed,  but  they 
readily  hauled  at  the  dragging  net  and  brought  Philip 
nearer  the  boat.  Even  at  this  final  stage  of  his  ad 
venture  he  incurred  a  terrible  risk. 

Unable  to  help  himself  in  the  least  degree,  and 
swallowing  salt  water  rapidly  now,  he  rolled  away 
inertly  as  the  net  rose  under  the  energetic  efforts  of  his 
rescuers.  There  was  grave  danger  that  he  should  drop 
back  into  the  depths,  and  then  he  must  sink  like  a  stone. 

Wearing  their  heavy  sea  boots,  none  of  the  fishermen, 
though  each  was  an  expert  swimmer,  dared  to  jump 
into  the  water.  But  the  oarsman,  being  a  person  of 
resource,  and  reasoning  rapidly  that  not  the  most  en 
thusiastic  salmon  bailiff  in  England  would  pursue  him 
in  such  manner,  grabbed  a  boathook  and  caught  Philip 
with  it  beneath  the  arm. 

He  only  used  the  slight  force  needful  to  support  him 
until  another  could  grasp  him. 

Then  they  lifted  the  half-drowned  man  on  board, 
turned  him  on  his  face  to  permit  the  water  to  flow  out 
of  his  lungs,  and,  instantly  reversing  him,  began  to 
raise  his  elbows  and  press  them  against  his  sides  al 
ternately. 

Soon  he  breathed  again,  but  he  remained  uncon 
scious,  and  a  restored  circulation  caused  blood  to  flow 
freely  from  the  back  of  his  head. 

Of  course  the  men  were  voicing  their  surprise 
throughout  this  unparalleled  experience. 

"Wheaishe?" 

"Where  did  he  coom  fnae?" 


DIAMONDS  297 

"Nobbut  a  loony  wad  hae  jumped  off  yon  crag." 

"He's  neaked  as  when  he  was  born." 

At  last  one  of  them  noticed  his  broken  scalp.  He 
pointed  out  the  wound  to  his  companions. 

"That  was  never  dean  by  fallin'  i'  t'  watter,"  he  said. 

They  agreed.  The  thing  was  mysteriously  serious. 
Philip's  youth,  his  stature,  his  delicate  skin,  the  texture 
of  his  hands,  the  cleanliness  of  his  teeth  and  nails,  were 
quick  tokens  to  the  fisherman  that  something  quite  be 
yond  the  common  run  of  seaside  accidents  had  taken 
place.  The  oarsman,  a  man  of  much  intelligence,  hit 
on  an  explanation. 

"He  was  swarmin'  doon  t'  cliff  after  t'  birds,"  he 
cried.  "Mebbe  fotygraffin'  'em.  I've  heerd  o'  sike 
doin's." 

"Man  alive,"  cried  one  of  his  mates,  "he  wouldn't 
strip  te  t'  skin  for  that  job." 

This  was  unanswerable.  Not  one  gave  a  thought 
to  the  invisible  Grange  House. 

They  held  a  hasty  consultation.  One  man  doffed 
his  jersey  for  Philip's  benefit,  and  then  they  hastily  cov 
ered  him  with  oilskin  coat  and  overalls. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark,  so  they  ran  out  a  marking 
buoy  for  their  net,  shipped  oars,  and  pulled  lustily  to 
their  remote  fishing  hamlet,  three  miles  away  from  the 
outlet  of  the  river  which  flowed  through  Scarsdale. 

Arrived  there,  they  carried  Philip  to  the  house  of 
one  who  was  the  proud  owner  of  a  "spare"  bed. 

And  now  a  fresh  difficulty  arose.  A  doctor,  and 
eke  a  policeman,  should  be  summoned.  A  messenger 
was  dispatched  at  once  for  the  nearest  medical  man — 
who  lived  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  but  the  policeman, 
who  dwelt  in  the  village,  was  a  bird  of  another  color. 


298  THE  KING  OF 

These  men  were  poachers,  lawbreakers.  At  various 
times  they  had  all  been  fined  for  illegal  fishing.  The 
policeman  was  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind.  He 
might  fail  to  understand  the  mystery  of  the  cliff,  but 
he  would  most  certainly  appreciate  every  detail  of  their 
presence  in  that  particular  part  of  the  sea  which  lapped 
its  base. 

So  they  smoked,  and  talked,  and  tried  rough  reme 
dies  until  the  doctor  arrived. 

To  him  they  told  the  exact  truth ;  he  passed  no  com 
ment,  examined  his  patient,  cut  away  the  hair  from  the 
scalp  wound,  shook  his  head  over  it,  bound  it  up,  ad 
ministered  some  stimulant,  and  sat  down  to  await  the 
return  of  consciousness. 

But  this  was  long  delayed,  and  when,  at  last,  Philip 
opened  his  eyes,  he  only  rallied  sufficiently  to  sleep. 

The  doctor  promised  to  come  early  next  day,  and  left. 

Throughout  Wednesday  and  Thursday  Philip  was 
partly  delirious,  waking  at  times  to  a  vague  conscious 
ness  of  his  surroundings,  but  mostly  asking  vacantly  for 
"Evelyn." 

Often  he  fought  with  a  person  named  "Jocky  Ma" 
son,"  and  explained  that  "Sir  Philip"  was  not  in  York 
shire  at  all. 

The  wife  of  one  of  his  rescuers  was  assiduous  in  her 
attentions.  Most  fortunately,  for  these  fisherfolk  were 
very  poor,  that  lure  spread  beneath  the  cliff  inveigled 
an  unprecedented  number  of  salmon,  so  she  could  af 
ford  to  buy  eggs  and  milk  in  abundance,  and  the  doc 
tor  brought  such  medicines  as  were  needed. 

Gradually  Philip  recovered,  until,  at  nine  o'clock,  on 
Thursday  night,  he  came  into  sudden  and  full  use  of 
his  senses. 


DIAMONDS  299 

Then  the  doctor  was  sent  for  urgently;  Philip  in 
sisted  on  getting  up  at  once.  He  was  kept  in  bed  al 
most  by  main  force. 

With  the  doctor's  arrival  there  was  a  further  change. 
Here  was  an  educated  man,  who  listened  attentively  to 
his  patient's  story,  and  did  not  instantly  conclude  that 
he  was  raving. 

He  helped,  too,  by  his  advice.  It  was  utterly  im 
possible  to  send  a  telegram  to  London  that  night.  No 
matter  what  the  sufferings  of  anxious  friends  concern 
ing  him,  they  could  not  be  assuaged  until  the  morning. 

Yes,  he  would  find  money  and  clothes,  accompany 
him,  if  need  be,  on  the  journey  if  he  were  able  to  travel 
to-morrow — attend  to  all  things,  in  fact,  in  his  behalf — 
for  millionaires  are  scarce  birds  in  secluded  moorland 
districts.  But,  meanwhile,  he  must  take  a  drink  of 
milk  and  beef  essence,  rest  a  little  while,  take  this 
draught,  in  a  small  bottle  indicated,  and  sleep. 

Sleep  was  quite  essential.  He  would  awake  in  the 
morning  very  much  better.  The  knock  on  the  head 
was  not  so  serious  as  it  looked  at  first  sight.  Proba 
bly  he  would  not  even  feel  it  again  if  he  wore  a  soft 
cap  for  some  days.  The  broken  skin  was  healing 
nicely,  and  concussion  of  the  brain  had  as  many  grada 
tions  as  fever,  which  ranges  from  a  slight  cold  to  Yel 
low  Jack. 

In  his  case  he  was  suffering  from  two  severe  shocks, 
but  the  crisis  was  passed,  and  he  was  able,  even  now, 
to  get  up  if  it  could  serve  any  possible  purpose. 

All  this,  save  the  promise  of  help,  the  doctor  said 
with  his  tongue  in  his  cheek.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  permitting  Philip  to  travel  next  day.  It 
was  out  of  the  question.  Better  reason  with  him  in 


300  THE  KING  OF 

the  morning,  and,  if  needful,  bring  his  friends  to  York 
shire  rather  than  send  him  to  London. 

But — the  police  must  be  informed  at  once.  It  was 
more  than  likely  the  criminals  had  left  the  Grange 
House  soon  after  the  attempted  murder.  Yet,  if  Philip 
did  not  object,  a  policeman  should  be  summoned,  and 
the  tale  told  to  him.  The  man  should  be  warned  to 
keep  the  story  out  of  the  papers. 

The  arrival  of  the  constable  at  a  late  hour  created 
consternation  in  the  household.  But  the  doctor  knew 
his  people. 

"Have  no  fear,  Mrs.  Verril,"  he  whispered  to  the 
fisherman's  wife,  "your  husband  caught  a  fine  fish 
when  he  drew  Mr.  Anson  into  his  net.  He  will  not 
need  to  poach  salmon  any  more." 

The  doctor  sat  by  Philip's  bed  while  the  policeman 
made  clumsy  notes  of  that  eventful  Tuesday  night's 
occurrences. 

Then,  in  his  turn,  he  amazed  his  hearers. 

He  described  his  encounter  with  another  Philip  An 
son  in  the  highroad,  at  an  hour  when  the  real  per 
sonage  of  that  name  was  unquestionably  being  attended 
to  by  the  doctor  himself  in  the  fisherman's  cottage. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  in  his  broad  Yorkshire  dialect,  "he 
was  as  like  you,  sir,  as  twea  peas,  on'y,  now  that  I 
see  ye,  he  wasn't  sike  a — sike  a  gentleman  as  you,  an' 
he  talked  wi'  a  queer  catch  in  his  voice.  T'uther  chap 
'ud  be  Jocky  Mason,  'cordin'  te  your  discription ;  soa 
it  seems  to  me  'at  this  'ere  Dr.  Williams,  'oo  druv'  you 
frae  t'  station,  must  ha'  took  yer  clothes,  an'  twisted 
his  feace  te  luke  as  mich  like  you  as  he  could." 

The  doctor  cut  short  further  conversation.  He  in 
sisted  on  his  patient  seeking  rest,  but  in  response  to 


DIAMONDS  301 

Philip's   urgent   request,   he  wrote  a   long  telegram, 
which  he  promised  would  be  handed  in  when  the  Scars- 
dale  telegraph  office  opened  next  morning. 
And  this  was  Philip's  message  to  Evelyn : 

"I  have  suffered  detention  since  Tuesday  night  at 
the  hands  of  Jocky  Mason,  whose  name  you  will  recol 
lect,  and  another  man,  unknown.  I  am  now  cared  for 
by  friends,  and  recovering  rapidly  from  injuries  re 
ceived  in  a  struggle.  I  return  to  London  to-day." 
The  doctor  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  "My  only  fear  is 
that  you  must  have  endured  terrible  uncertainty,  if  by 
any  chance  you  imagined  I  was  missing.  Tell  Abing- 
don.  PHILIP  ANSON." 

And  then  followed  his  address,  care  of  the  doctor. 

"Is  that  all  ?"  said  Anson's  new-found  friend. 

Philip  smiled  feebly,  for  he  was  very  weak. 

"There  is  one  matter,  small  in  many  ways,  but  im 
portant,  too.  You  might  add :  'I  hope  you  have  not 
lost  Blue  Atom  by  this  mischance.' " 

He  sank  back  exhausted. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  the  doctor's  tongue  to  ask : 

"What  in  the  world  is  a  Blue  Atom  ?" 

But  he  forbore.  The  sleeping  potion  was  taking 
effect,  and  he  would  not  retard  it.  He  subsequently 
wrote  a  telegram  on  his  own  account: 

"Mr.  Anson  is  convalescing,  but  a  journey  to-day  is 
impossible.  A  reassuring  message  from  you  will  save 
him  from  impatience,  and  help  his  recovery.  He  has 
been  delirious  until  last  night.  Now  all  he  needs  is 
rest  and  freedom  from  worry." 

His  man  waited  at  Scarsdale  post  office  until  a  reply 
came  next  day.  Then  he  rode  with  it  to  the  village 
where  Philip  was  yet  sleeping  peacefully,  Indeed,  the 


302  THE  KING  OF 

clatter  of  hoofs  without  aroused  him,  and  he  opened 
his  eyes  to  find  the  doctor  sitting  as  though  he  had 
never  quitted  his  side. 

Evelyn's  message  must  have  caused  much  specula 
tion  as  to  its  true  significance  in  the  minds  of  those 
telegraphic  officials  through  whose  hands  it  passed. 

It  read : 

"Am  absolutely  bewildered.  Cannot  help  feeling 
sure  that  news  received  to-day  really  conies  from  you. 
In  that  case,  who  is  it  who  has  been  wiring  repeatedly, 
in  your  name,  from  Station  Hotel,  York?  Do  not 
know  what  to  think.  Am  going  immediately  to  Abing- 
don.  Please  send  more  information.  Suspense  un 
bearable.  EVELYN." 

If  ever  there  was  need  for  action  it  was  needed  now. 
Anson's  strenuous  energy  brought  forth  the  full 
strength  of  his  indomitable  will.  The  pallor  fled  from 
his  cheeks,  the  dullness  from  his  eyes. 

"Dr.  Scarth,"  he  cried,  "you  must  not  keep  me  here 
in  view  of  that  telegram  from  the  woman  I  love.  Be 
lieve  me,  I  will  be  worse,  not  better,  if  you  force  me 
to  remain  inactive,  chained  almost  helpless  in  this  vil 
lage,  and  miles  away  from  even  a  telegraph  office. 
Help  me  now,  and  you  will  never  regret  it.  I  ask 
you " 

The  doctor  cut  short  his  excited  outburst. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "Whatever  you  do,  try  and 
cease  from  troubling  yourself  about  circumstances 
which  a  few  hours  will  put  right.  I  must  return  to 
my  dispensary  for  one  hour.  Then  I  will  come  for 
you,  bring  some  clothes  and  the  necessary  money,  and 
we  will  leave  Scarsdale  for  York  at  2.30  P.  M.  That 
is  the  best  I  can  promise.  It  must  satisfy  you." 


DIAMONDS  303 

He  gave  hasty  directions  as  to  his  patient's  food, 
and  left  him. 

Another  telegram  arrived,  with  it  the  policeman,  in 
the  dogcart  of  the  Fox  and  Hounds  Inn. 

"Abingdon  went  to  Devonshire  yesterday.  His  wife 
says  he  suspected  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 
Unhappily  we  do  not  know  his  address,  but  he  wires 
that  he  is  not  to  be  expected  home  to-day.  Do  ask 
Dr.  Scarth  to  send  further  news  if  unable  yourself. 

"EVELYN." 

Philip  hesitated  to  be  explicit  as  to  the  real  nature 
of  the  outrage  inflicted  on  him  by  Jocky  Mason  and 
his  unknown  accomplice.  He  hastily  determined  that 
the  best  assurance  he  could  give  to  the  distracted  girl 
was  one  of  his  immediate  departure  from  the  village. 

The  policeman  helped  him  as  to  local  information, 
and  he  wrote  the  following : 

"Leaving  Scarsdale  at  2.30  P.  M.  Passing  through 
Malton  at  four  o'clock,  and  reach  York  five-ten.  Dr. 
Scarth  permits  journey,  and  accompanies  me.  Send 
any  further  messages  care  of  respective  station  masters 
prior  to  hours  named.  Accept  statement  implicitly 
that  I  will  reach  London  to-night.  Will  wire  you 
from  York  certain ;  earlier  if  necessary.  As  for  iden 
tity,  you  will  recall  May  I5th,  Hyde  Park,  near  Stan 
hope  Gate,  four  o'clock." 

Evelyn  and  he  alone  knew  that  at  that  spot  on  the 
day  and  hour  named,  they  became  engaged. 

The  policeman  valiantly  lent  the  few  shillings  neces 
sary,  and  the  sturdy  horse  from  the  Fox  and  Hounds 
tore  back  to  Scarsdale. 

But  the  constable  was  of  additional  value.  His  re 
searches  in  Scarsdale  provided  a  fairly  accurate  history 


304  THE  KING  OF 

and  description  of  the  two  denizens  of  the  Grange 
House. 

Philip  himself  had,  of  course,  seen  "Dr.  Williams"  in 
broad  daylight  and  undisguised — not  yet  could  he  re 
member  where  he  heard  that  smooth-tongued  voice. 
Jocky  Mason  he  only  pictured  hazily  after  the  lapse 
of  years,  but  the  policeman's  details  of  his  personal  ap 
pearance  coincided  exactly  with  Philip's  recollection, 
allowing  for  age  and  the  hardships  of  convict  life. 

At  last  came  the  doctor,  with  a  valise. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  laughed,  "but  all  the  money  I  can 
muster  at  such  short  notice  is  twelve  pounds." 

"I  began  life  once  before  with  three  halfpence,"  was 
the  cheery  reply. 

The  few  inhabitants  of  the  hamlet  gathered  to  see 
them  off,  and  the  fisherman's  wife  was  moved  to  screw 
her  apron  into  her  eyes  when  Philip  shook  hands  with 
her,  saying  that  she  would  see  him  again  in  a  few 
days. 

"Eh,  but  he's  a  bonny  lad,"  was  her  verdict. 
"  'Twas  a  fair  sham'  te  treat  him  soa." 

At  Scarsdale  and  at  Malton  again  came  loving  words 
from  Evelyn.  Now  she  knew  who  it  was  who  tele 
graphed  to  her. 

And  the  mysterious  Philip  Anson  at  York  remained 
dumb. 

"The  wretch !"  she  said  to  her  mother.  "To  dare  to 
open  my  letter  and  send  me  impudent  replies." 

More  than  once  she  thought  of  going  to  York  to 
meet  her  lover,  but  she  wisely  decided  against  this 
course.  Mr.  Abingdon  was  out  of  town,  and  Philip 
might  need  seme  one  he  could  trust  to  obey  his  in 
structions  in  London. 


DIAMONDS  305 

At  ten  minutes  past  five  Anson  and  Dr.  Scarth  ar 
rived  in  York. 

A  long  discourse  in  the  train  gave  them  a  plan. 
They  would  not  appeal  at  once  to  the  police.  Better 
clear  the  mist  that  hid  events  before  the  aid  of  the  law 
was  invoked.  There  were  two  of  them,  and  the  assist 
ance  of  the  hotel  people  could  be  obtained  if  necessary. 

They  hurried  first  to  the  station  master's  office. 
Anything  for  Anson  ?  Yes.  Only  a  few  words  of  en 
treaty  from  Evelyn  to  avoid  further  risk. 

Then  to  the  hotel.     They  sought  the  manager. 

"Is  there  a  man  staying  here  who  represents  that  his 
name  is  Philip  Anson  ?" 

The  question  was  unusual  in  its  form,  disturbing  in 
its  innuendo.  The  man  who  asked  it  was  pale,  with 
unnaturally  brilliant  brown  eyes,  a  gentleman  in  man 
ner,  but  attired  in  ill-fitting  garments,  and  beneath  his 
tweed  cap  he  wore  a  surgical  bandage. 

And  Philip  Anson,  the  millionaire,  of  whom  he  spoke 
thus  contemptuously,  was  staying  in  the  hotel,  and  pay 
ing  for  its  best  rooms. 

But  the  manager  was  perfectly  civil.  The  presence 
of  Dr.  Scarth,  a  reputable-lode  ing  stranger,  gave  evi 
dence  that  something  important  wras  afoot.  Mr.  An 
son  was  in  his  rooms  at  the  moment.  Their  names 
would  be  sent  up. 

Dr.  Scarth,  quick  to  appreciate  the  difficulties  of  the 
situation,  intervened  quietly. 

"Is  he  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  will  be  better  if  you  accompany  us  in  per 
son.  An  unpleasant  matter  can  be  arranged  without 
undue  publicity." 


306  THE  KING  OF 

This  was  alarming.  The  manager  went  with  them 
instantly.  They  paused  at  the  door  indicated. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Philip,  turning  the  handle 
without  knocking. 

Grenier,  intent  on  the  perusal  of  a  letter  he  had  just 
written,  looked  up  quickly. 

He  was  face  to  face  with  Philip  Anson. 


DIAMONDS  307 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  Settlement  of  Old  Scores. 

The  one  man  stood,  the  other  sat,  gazing  at  each 
other  in  a  silence  that  was  thrilling. 

Dr.  Scarth  and  the  hotel  manager  entered  noiselessly, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  them.  Grenier,  adroit 
scoundrel  that  he  was,  was  bereft  of  speech,  of  the 
power  to  move.  He  harbored  no  delusions.  This  was 
no  ghost  coming  to  trouble  his  soul  in  broad  daylight. 
It  was  Philip  Anson  himself,  alive,  and  in  full  posses 
sion  of  his  senses,  a  more  terrible  apparition  than  any 
visitor  from  beyond  the  grave.  His  presence  in  that 
room  meant  penal  servitude  for  life  for  Victor  Grenier, 
a  prison  cell  instead  of  palatial  chambers,  bread  and 
skilly  in  place  of  Carlton  luncheons. 

No  wonder  the  scoundrel  was  dumb,  that  his  tongue 
was  dry.  He  went  cold  all  over,  and  his  eyes  swam. 

Philip  advanced  toward  him.  Grenier  could  not 
move.  He  was  glued  to  his  chair. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  said  Anson,  sternly. 

No  answer.  As  yet  the  acute  brain  refused  to  work. 
Lost — ruined — no  escape — were  the  vague  ideas  that 
jostled  each  other  in  chaos. 

"Can  you  not  speak?  Who  are  you  that  dares  to 
usurp  my  name,  after  striving  to  murder  me?" 

No  answer.  The  shifty  eyes — the  eyes  of  a  detected 
pickpocket — wandered  stupidly  from  Philip's  set  face 
to  that  of  the  perplexed  hotel  manager,  and  the  gravely 
amused  doctor. 


308  THE  KING  OF 

Philip  never  used  strong  language,  but  he  was 
greatly  tempted  at  that  moment. 

"Confound  you !"  he  shouted.  "Why  don't  you  an 
swer  me?" 

"I — I — my  name  is  Philip  Anson.  The  manager — 
the — bank." 

As  a  spent  fox  will  vainly  try  the  last  despairing  de 
vice  of  climbing  a  tree  in  full  sight  of  the  hounds,  so 
did  Victor  Grenier  evolve  the  desperate  scheme  that 
perhaps — perhaps — he  might  carry  out  a  feeble  pre 
tense  of  self-assertion. 

If  only  he  could  get  away,  into  the  crowded  sta 
tion,  into  the  streets,  slink  into  obscurity  while  the 
chase  swept  past,  he  might  yet  endeavor  to  escape. 

"You  Philip  Anson!  You  vile  impostor!  I  am 
sorely  inclined  to  wring  your  neck !" 

Philip  came  nearer.  In  sheer  fright  lest  the  other 
might  give  effect  to  his  words  Grenier  again  backed 
his  chair  violently.  It  caught  against  a  thick  rug  and 
he  fell  headlong.  For  an  instant  they  all  thought  he 
had  hurt  himself  seriously. 

The  doctor  and  manager  ran  to  pick  him  up,  but  he 
rose  to  his  knees  and  whined : 

"I  will  tell  everything.  I  mean,  there  is  some  mis 
take.  Look  at  my  letters,  my  bank  books.  They  are 
Philip  Anson's.  Indeed,  there  is  a  mistake." 

On  the  table  were  many  documents  and  a  pile  of 
bank  notes.  Everything  was  in  order,  neatly  pinned 
and  docketed.  A  number  of  telegrams,  of  which  the 
topmost  was  signed  "Evelyn,"  caught  Philip's  eye.  He 
took  them  up.  Not  only  were  his  betrothed's  mes 
sages  preserved,  but  copies  of  Grenier's  replies  were 
inserted  in  their  proper  sequence. 


DIAMONDS  309 

And  Evelyn's  letters,  too,  lay  before  him.  He 
flushed  with  anger  as  he  read. 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  in  a  sudden  blaze,  "if  I  talk  with  this 
scoundrel  I  shall  do  him  an  injury.  Send  for  the  po 
lice.  They  will  know  how  to  deal  with  him." 

The  mere  mention  of  the  police  galvanized  Grenier 
into  the  activity  of  a  wild  cat.  He  had  risen  to  his 
feet  and  was  standing  limply  between  the  doctor  and 
manager  when  that  hated  word  electrified  him. 

With  one  spring  he  was  free  of  them,  rushing  fran 
tically  to  the  door.  After  him  went  all  three,  the  man 
ager  leading. 

Grenier  tore  the  door  open  and  got  outside.  It  was 
a  hopeless  attempt.  He  would  be  stopped  by  hotel 
porters  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  by  the  manager's  loud- 
voiced  order.  Yet  he  raced  for  dear  liberty,  trusting 
blindly  to  fate. 

And  fate  met  him  more  than  halfway. 

A  tall  man,  coming  upstairs  with  a  page  boy,  encoun 
tered  Grenier  flying  downward.  He  grabbed  him  in 
a  clutch  of  iron  and  cried  sardonically : 

"No,  you  don't !  A  word  with  me  first,  if  the  devil 
was  at  your  heels  !" 

Intent  on  his  prize,  he  paid  no  heed  to  others. 

"Which  is  his  room?"  he  said  to  the  boy. 

"No.  41,  sir!"  stammered  the  youngster,  who 
thought  that  millionaires  should  be  treated  with  more 
ceremony  than  this  wolf-eyed  stranger  bestowed  on  the 
great  Mr.  Anson. 

"Go  on,  then !     I'll  bring  him." 

"It  is  Jocky  Mason,"  murmured  Philip  to  Dr. 
Scarth.  With  the  manager  they  had  halted  in  the  cor 
ridor.  Mason  strode  past  them,  with  eyes  only  for  the 


3io  THE  KING  OF 

cowering  Grenier,  who  was  making  piteous  appeals  to 
be  set  free. 

The  stronger  ruffian  threw  his  confederate  into 
Room  41,  and  was  about  to  close  the  door  when  he 
saw  Philip,  close  behind  him. 

He  stepped  back  a  pace,  mute,  rigid,  seeking  with 
glaring  eyes  to  learn  whether  or  not  he  was  the  victim 
of  hallucination. 

Philip  knew  him  instantly.  The  voice  he  heard  on 
the  stairs,  the  policeman's  rough  but  accurate  picture, 
the  recollection  of  the  captive  of  Johnson's  Mews,  all 
combined  to  tell  him  that  in  truth  Jocky  Mason  stood 
before  him. 

More  than  that,  the  would-be  murderer  handled  his 
accomplice  in  a  way  that  promised  interesting  develop 
ments.  Now,  perchance,  the  truth  might  be  ascer 
tained.  Escape  was  out  of  the  question  for  either  of 
them.  The  manager's  cry  had  brought  four  strong 
porters  pellmell  to  the  spot. 

"You  and  I  will  enter,"  said  Anson  to  Dr.  Scarth. 
"You,"  to  the  manager,  "might  kindly  remain  here 
with  your  men  for  a  few  minutes." 

"Shall  I  summon  the  police?" 

"Not  yet.  I  want  to  clear  matters  somewhat.  They 
are  dreadfully  tangled." 

Mason,  spellbound,  but  fearless  as  ever,  heard  the 
dead  man  speak,  saw  him  move.  He  could  not  refuse 
the  evidence  of  eyes  and  ears.  As  Philip  advanced 
into  the  room,  the  giant  put  his  hands  wildly  to  his 
head,  and  sobbed  brokenly : 

"Thank  God !  Thank  God !  For  my  boys'  sake, 
not  for  mine !" 

His  extraordinary  attitude,  his  no  less  extraordinary 


DIAMONDS  311 

words,  amazed  at  least  two  of  his  hearers.  Grenier, 
rendered  callous  now  by  sheer  hopelessness,  was  pour 
ing  out  some  brandy  and  lighting  a  cigarette.  The 
revulsion  of  feeling  at  the  sight  of  Mason  had  calmed 
him.  He  would  make  the  most  of  the  few  minutes 
that  were  left  before  he  was  handcuffed. 

Dr.  Scarth  took  the  precaution  of  locking  the  door, 
and  putting  the  key  into  his  pocket.  It  is  doubtful  if 
he  would  have  done  this  had  he  known  Mason's  violent 
character.  But,  unknown  to  Philip,  he  carried  a  re 
volver,  which  he  whipped  forth  when  Grenier  bolted, 
and  as  rapidly  concealed  when  it  was  not  needed. 

"You  did  not  kill  me,  you  see,"  said  Philip,  sinking 
into  a  chair,  for  the  excitement  was  beginning  to  tell 
on  him. 

The  big  man  slowly  dropped  his  hands.     His  prom 
inent  eyes  seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  the  sight  of  one 
whom  he  threw  apparently  lifeless  into  the  sea. 
"I  could  lick  your  boots,"  he  said,  thickly. 
The  queer  idea  sounded  ludicrous.     Yet  it  conveyed 
a  good  deal.     It  smacked  of  remorse,  repentance. 

"Tell  me,"  began  Philip,  but  a  loud  knocking  with 
out  interrupted  him. 

"Who  is  there?"  said  Dr.  Scarth. 
"Abingdon.     I  want  to  see  Mr.  Anson,"  was  the  re 
ply,  in  a  voice  that  Philip  hailed  joyfully. 

Mr.  Abingdon  was  admitted.  His  astonishment  was 
extreme  at  the  nature  of  the  gathering,  but  he  instantly 
noticed  Philip's  wan  appearance,  and  the  bandage  on 
his  head. 

"My  dear,  dear  boy,"  he  cried,  "what  has  hap 
pened  ?" 

Philip    told    him    briefly.    As    the    ex-magistrate's 


312  THE  KING  OF 

glance  rested  on  Mason  and  Grenier  it  became  very 
chilly.  It  brought  Portland  Prison  near  to  the  soul  of 
one  of  them.  He  poured  out  more  spirit. 

The  respite  given  by  Mr.  Abingdon's  arrival  gave 
Mason  time  to  focus  his  thoughts.  The  man  had  lived 
in  an  inferno  since  he  slipped  away  from  his  sons  that 
morning  on  a  plea  of  urgent  business  in  order  to  catch 
a  fast  train  for  York  in  the  afternoon. 

He  knew  that  Grenier  would  make  the  Station  Ho 
tel  his  headquarters,  and  his  sole  desire  was  to  stop 
that  enterprising  rogue  from  committing  further  crimes 
•which  might  be  damaging  to  Anson's  estate,  and  dis 
astrous  to  the  peace  of  mind  of  the  girl  he  loved. 

In  no  way  did  he  hold  Grenier  responsible  for  urg 
ing  him  to  commit  murder.  The  journey  to  York  was 
undertaken  in  the  first  place  to  save  Philip's  memory 
from  the  slur  which  was  intended  to  be  cast  upon  it, 
and,  secondly,  to  afford  a  plausible  pretext  for  a  plat 
form  accident  whereby  his  own  life  should  be  dashed 
out  of  him  by  an  engine. 

He  would  stumble  over  a  barrow,  fall  helplessly  in 
front  of  an  incoming  train,  and  end  his  career  far  from 
London,  far  from  inquiry  and  published  reports  which 
might  be  injurious  to  his  sons. 

It  might,  perhaps,  be  necessary  to  use  forcible  means 
to  persuade  Grenier  to  abandon  his  tactics.  They 
would  be  forthcoming;  he  gave  earnest  of  that  on  the 
stairs. 

Of  course,  the  discovery  that  Philip  lived  gave  a 
fresh  direction  to  his  purpose.  A  great  load  of  guilt 
was  lifted  off  his  conscience,  but  the  position  remained 
little  less  serious  personally. 


DIAMONDS  313 

So  when,  at  last,  he  began  to  tell  his  story,  there 
was  a  brutal  directness,  a  rough  eloquence,  that  silenced 
all  questioning. 

At  first  his  hearers  thought  he  was  rambling  and 
incoherent  as  he  described  his  release  from  jail,  his 
visit  to  the  Mary  Anson  Home,  his  long  and  fruitless 
search  for  the  lost  boys. 

He  told  of  his  meeting  with  Grenier,  the  espionage 
they  both  practiced  on  Anson's  movements,  and  the 
plot  hatched  with  Langdon,  whose  relationship  with 
Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Morland  now  first  became  known 
to  Philip. 

He  was  quite  fair  to  Grenier,  giving  him  full  credit 
for  having  stopped  him  more  than  once  from  murder 
ing  Philip  when  opportunities  presented  themselves. 
He  dealt  ruthlessly  with  the  scene  in  the  Grange  House, 
even  smiling  dreadfully  as  he  described  Grenier's 
squeamishness  over  the  suggestion  that  Philip's  face 
should  be  battered  into  a  shapeless  mass. 

Then  followed  his  journey  to  London,  the  meeting 
•with  his  two  sons  at  Southwark  Police  Station,  and 
the  torturing  knowledge,  coming  too  late,  that  he  had 
slain  the  benefactor  of  his  wife  and  children. 

There  was  an  overwhelming  pathos  in  his  recital  of 
the  boys'  kindness  to  him.  He  gave  a  lurid  picture  of 
his  feelings  during  the  previous  night  as  he  listened 
to  their  praises  of  Philip  Anson,  and  their  pleasant 
plans  for  their  father's  future.  He  only  winced  once, 
and  that  was  at  the  remembrance  of  the  parting  a  few 
hours  ago. 

And  he  finished  by  a  pitiful  appeal  for  mercy,  not 
for  himself,  but  for  Grenier ! 

"I  put  the  whole  thing  into  his  mind,  Mr.  Anson," 


3H  THE  KING  OF 

he  said.  "He  would  never  have  thought  of  robbing 
you  but  for  me.  Let  him  go,  make  him  leave  the  coun 
try.  He  will  never  trouble  you  again.  As  for  me, 
when  I  go  from  this  room,  I  walk  to  my  death.  You 
can't  stop  me.  I  will  not  lay  hands  on  you,  I  promise, 
but  not  all  the  men  in  waiting  there  outside  can  hold 
me  back.  In  five  minutes,  or  less,  I  will  be  dead.  It 
will  be  an  accident.  No  one  will  be  the  wiser,  and  my 
boys  will  be  spared  the  knowledge  that  their  father 
tried  to  kill  the  man  to  whom  they  owe  everything." 

This  amazing  stipulation,  backed  up  by  a  fearless 
threat,  be  it  noticed,  drew  an  indignant  protest  from 
Mr.  Abingdon.  Philip  said  nothing. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  growled  Mason.  "There  is  an 
other  way." 

His  right  hand  dived  into  a  pocket,  and  Dr.  Scarth 
again  fingered  his  revolver. 
But  Philip  cried  imperiously: 

"Sit  still,  Mason.  I  have  heard  all  that  you  have 
to  say.  Be  quiet,  I  tell  you.  Wait  until  I  refuse  your 
request." 

"My  dear  boy,"  interrupted  Mr.  Abingdon,  who 
knew  Philip's  generous  impulses,  "you  will  never  think 

of  condoning " 

"Forgive  me !  Let  me  carry  matters  a  stage  fur 
ther.  Now  you,  Grenier.  What  have  you  to  say?" 

"Very  little!"  was  the  cool  response.  "My  excellent 
friend  has  made  a  clean  breast  of  everything.  You 
didn't  die,  and  so  spoiled  the  finest  coup  that  ever  man 
dreamed  of.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  concocting  the 
requisite  epistles  from  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Morland. 
Your  London  bank  accepted  my  signatures  with  touch 
ing  confidence.  I  have  opened  two  accounts  in  your 


DIAMONDS  315 

name,  one  in  York  and  one  in  Leeds,  five  thousand 
pounds  each.  This  morning  I  heard  from  London 
that  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  your 
Consols  had  been  realized,  and  placed  to  your  current 
account.  Just  to  be  feeling  the  pulse  of  the  local  money 
market,  I  drew  out  two  thousand  pounds  to-day.  It  is 
there,  in  notes,  on  the  table.  You  will  also  find  the 
check  books  and  passbooks  in  perfect  order.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  I  told  your  man  Green  to  open  your  safe  and 
send  me  your  mysterious  portmanteau.  It  is  in  my 
bedroom.  That  is  all,  I  think.  I  am  sorry  if  I  wor 
ried  the  young  lady " 

"You  unutterable  scamp,"  cried  Philip. 

"Well,  I  had  to  keep  her  quiet,  you  know.  As  it 
was,  she  suspected  me.  I  suppose  my  messages  hadn't 
the  proper  ring  in  them.  And — what  the  deuce  is  a 
Blue  Atom  ?'" 

Dr.  Scarth  was  even  more  interested  than  ever,  if 
possible. 

"Blue  Atom !  Blue  Atom  is  a  nobler  specimen  of  a 
dog  than  yourself.  He  is  a  prize  toy  Pomeranian ;  you 
are  a  mongrel." 

Grenier,  for  an  instant,  grew  confused  again.  He 
sighed  deeply. 

"A  dog!"  he  murmured.  "A  blue  Pomeranian! 
Who  would  have  guessed  it?" 

Philip  turned  to  Mason. 

"If  I  leave  you  here  alone  with  this  man,  Grenier, 
will  you  keep  him  out  of  mischief?" 

Jocky  gave  his  associate  a  glance  which  caused  that 
worthy  to  sit  down  suddenly. 

"And  yourself?  Promise  that  you  will  remain  as 
you  are  until  I  return  ?" 


3i6  THE  KING  OF 

"I  promise." 

Anson  led  his  friends  from  the  room.  He  thanked 
the  manager  for  the  assistance  he  had  given,  and  told 
him  the  affair  might  be  arranged  without  police  inter 
ference. 

Long  and  earnestly  did  he  confer  with  Mr.  Abing- 
don.  It  was  a  serious  thing  to  let  these  men  off  scot- 
free.  Grenier's  case  was  worse,  in  a  sense,  than  that 
of  Mason. 

There  were  three  banks  involved,  and,  forgery,  to  a 
bank,  is  a  crime  not  to  be  forgiven.  There  was  a 
dubious  way  out.  Philip  might  accept  responsibility 
for  Grenier's  transactions.  If  the  London  bank  ac 
cepted  Grenier's  signature  for  his,  surely  the  local  in 
stitutions  would  accept  his  for  Grenier's. 

Mr.  Abingdon  was  wroth  at  the  bare  suggestion. 

"You  will  be- forging  your  own  name,"  he  protested, 
vehemently. 

"Very  well,  then.  He  shall  write  checks  payable  to 
self  or  order,  indorse  them,  and  I  will  pay  them  into 
my  account." 

"I  dare  not  approve  of  any  such  procedure." 

So  Philip,  though  sorely  tried,  again  labored  his 
arguments  that  the  trial  of  Grenier  would  be  a  cause 
celebre  in  which  his,  Anson's,  name  would  be  unpleas 
antly  prominent.  Evelyn  would  be  drawn  into  it,  and 
Abingdon  himself.  There  would  be  columns  of  sensa 
tion  in  the  newspapers. 

Moreover,  it  was  quite  certain  that  Jocky  Mason 
would  commit  suicide  unless  they  captured  him  by  a 
subterfuge,  and  then  the  whole  story  would  leak  out. 

It  ended  by  Philip  gaining  the  day,  for,  at  the  bottom 


DIAMONDS  317 

of  his  heart,  Abingdon  was  touched  by  Mason's  story- 
thoroughpaced  ruffian  though  he  was. 

They  re-entered  No.  41.  The  pair  were  sitting  as 
they  were  left;  Grenier  was  not  even  smoking.  The 
affair  of  the  Blue  Atom  had  deeply  wounded  his 
vanity. 

Philip  walked  straight  to  Mason,  and  took  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Now,  listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  gave  you  one  crack 
on  the  head,  and  you  have  given  me  one.  Shall  we 
say  that  accounts  are  squared?" 

"Do  you  mean  it,  sir?" 

"Yes,  absolutely." 

"Then,  all  I  can  say  is  this,  sir.  During  the  rest  of 
my  life  I'll  make  good  use  of  the  chance  you  have 
given  me.  God  bless  you,  for  my  boys'  sake,  more 
than  my  own." 

"And  you,"  went  on  Philip,  turning  to  the  disconso 
late  Grenier.  "Will  you  leave  England  and  make  a 
fresh  start  in  a  new  land?  You  are  young  enough, 
and  clever  enough,  in  some  respects,  to  earn  an  honest 
living." 

"I  will,  sir.     I  swear  it." 

The  utter  collapse  of  his  castle  in  Spain  had  sob 
ered  him.  The  gates  of  Portland  were  yawning  open 
for  him,  and  the  goodness  of  the  man  he  had  wronged 
had  closed  them  in  his  face.  Never  again  would  he 
see  their  grim  front  if  he  could  help  it. 

He  readily  gave  every  assistance  in  the  brief  investi 
gation  that  followed.  Mr.  Abingdon  looked  on 
askance  as  he  wrote  checks  for  three  thousand  pounds 
and  five  thousand  pounds  on  the  York  and  Leeds 
banks  respectively,  but  even  Philip  himself  gave  an 


3i8  THE  KING  OF 

astonished  laugh  when  he  saw  his  own  signature 
•written  with  quiet  certainty  and  accuracy. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  cried  Grenier,  in  momentary 
elation.  "I  took  in  Mr.  Abingdon,  and  sent  a  com 
plete  letter  to  the  London  bank." 

"You  did  not  take  me  in,"  growled  Abingdon. 
"You  made  one  fatal  mistake." 

"And  what  was  that,  sir?" 

"You  alluded  to  the  annual  report  of  the  'Home.' 
Everyone  connected  with  that  establishment,  from  the 
founder  down  to  the  latest  office  boy,  invariably  calls 
it  the  'Mary  Anson  Home.'  Mr.  Anson  would  never 
write  of  it  in  other  terms." 

Grenier  was  again  abashed. 

"Have  you  any  money  in  your  pocket?"  said  Philip, 
when  the  forger  had  accounted  for  every  farthing. 

For  one  appreciable  instant  Grenier  hesitated.  Then 
he  flushed.  He  had  resisted  temptation. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "plenty.  Langdon  supplied  me  with 
funds." 

"How  much?" 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  I  have  over  sev 
enty  left." 

"I  will  arrange  matters  with  him.  Come  to  my 
West  End  office  next  Monday,  and  you  will  be  given 
sufficient  to  keep  you  from  poverty  and  crime  until  you 
find  your  feet  in  Canada.  Remember,  you  sail  on 
Wednesday." 

"No  fear  of  any  failure  on  my  part,  sir.  I  can 
hardly  credit  my  good — or,  what  I  want  to  say  is,  I 
can  never  thank  you  sufficiently." 

"Pay  Mason's   fare  to  London.     Better  stay  with 


DIAMONDS  319 

him.  His  sons  may  have  a  good  influence  on  you, 
too." 

Mason  rose  heavily. 

"I'll  find  him  a  job,  sir.     He  can  pack  your  bag." 

The  words  recalled  to  Philip  the  knowledge  of  his 
incongruous  attire.  Soon  he  wore  his  own  clothes. 
He  refused  to  allow  Grenier  to  divest  himself  of  the 
garments  he  wore,  but  he  was  glad  to  see  his  old  watch 
again. 

Dr.  Scarth  bade  them  farewell  and  returned  to  Scars- 
dale  by  the  last  train. 

Philip  and  Abingdon  arrived  in  London  at  2.15  A. 
M.  On  the  platform,  accompanied  by  her  mother, 
was  Evelyn. 

She  wept  all  the  way  to  Mount  Street,  where  Philip 
would  be  accommodated  for  the  night.  She  cried 
again  when  she  saw  his  poor,  wounded  head ;  but  she 
laughed  through  her  tears  when  she  ran  off  to  fetch  a 
very  small  and  very  sleepy  dog,  with  long  blue  hair 
falling  in  shaggy  masses  over  his  eyes  and  curling  won 
derfully  over  his  tiny  body. 


Mr.  James  Crichton  Langdon  was  imperatively  sum 
moned  to  London,  and  given  such  a  lecture  by  Mr. 
Abingdon  that  he  so  far  abandoned  the  error  of  his 
ways  as  to  strive  to  forget  that  such  a  person  as  Eve 
lyn  Atherley  existed. 

The  ex-magistrate  had  seen  him  in  Devonshire,  and 
was  so  skeptical  of  his  statements  concerning  the 
whereabouts  of  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Morland  that  he 
traveled  direct  to  York,  via  Gloucester  and  Birming 
ham,  to  clear  up  with  Philip  in  person  a  mystery  ren- 


320  THE  KING  OF 

dered  more  dense  by  the  curious  letter  and  telegram 
he  received  in  London. 

One  day,  in  August,  the  Sea  Maiden  dropped  anchor 
off  the  Yorkshire  coast  not  far  from  the  gaunt  cliff  on 
which  stood  Grange  House. 

Dr.  Scarth  entertained  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Anson  in  his 
house  for  the  night,  and  some  of  the  men  were  allowed 
ashore. 

They  came  back  full  of  a  story  they  had  heard,  how 
the  "skipper"  had  met  with  a  mishap  on  the  big  point 
to  s'uth'ard,  was  rescued  by  three  fishermen,  and  had 
bought  for  each  man  the  freehold  of  the  house  in  which 
he  lived,  besides  presenting  them  jointly  with  a  fine 
smack. 

"He's  a  rare  good  sort,  there's  no  doubt  about  that," 
said  the  chief  narrator,  "an',  of  course,  'e  can  afford 
to  do  that  sort  of  thing,  bein'  the  King  o'  Diamonds." 

"He's  more  than  the  King  of  Diamonds ;  he's  the 
King  of  Trumps,"  observed  a  gigantic,  broken-nosed 
stoker,  who  listened  to  the  yarn,  not  being  one  of  the 
shore-going  men. 

"You've  known  him  this  long  time,  haven't  you, 
Mason?"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"Yes — ever  since  he  was  a  bit  of  a  boy.  Ten  years 
it  must  be.  But  we  lost  sight  of  each  other — until  I 
met  him  the  other  day.  Then  he  gave  me  a  job — for 
the  sake  of  old  times !" 


THE    END. 


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